Healing Hands
by rum423
Summary: How will Katherine's death affect Billy and Victoria's rocky relationship? A retelling of their August 2013 reunion.
1. Chapter 1

So, I started this shortly after the August reunion last year. It's not that I didn't enjoy the trip down memory lane we were treated to,because I did, but I just felt there could have been more, more tie in to Katherine's death, to Billy's issues, Victoria's issues. A more complex story, so to speak, and that's what I've tried to create here. This first chapter is mostly set-up (which means boring), but I hope you'll all stick it out.

I, as I'm sure most of you are, am devastated Billy Miller will no longer be gracing our screens as Billy Abbott. He has been half of my inspiration for the only two, now three, pieces of fanfic I've ever written, er shared, and to sort of honor him, and to help myself with the transition, I'm pushing myself to finish the two stories I've been dabbling with for a while. They will not be anything of the undertaking that my first, Until We Meet Again, was, but I hope they will represent our beloved Villy well. And I hope some of you will at least be entertained by them.

Anyway, happy reading. I will try to update this one every week, but any of you who followed the journey of UWMA knows I don't always make my deadlines. For that, I apologize in advance. I anticipate it being 4, maybe 5 chapters.

Thanks for reading!

Rhonda

Healing Hands

Chapter 1

_August 2013_

Billy held the four rectangular packets securely between his thumb and forefinger and in one fluid motion ripped them open, letting the snow-like contents fall gently into the dark, aromatic whirlpool in front of him. He stirred slowly, methodically, making the task last far longer than it should, his eyes all the while covertly trained on the group of teenagers, two boys and two girls, flirting and giggling their way towards the patio doors.

Or maybe they were college students. It was getting harder for him to tell. Or relate. But whatever their ages, he wanted them to leave.

Outside, a flash of lightning, neither the first nor the last of the evening, illuminated the doorway, and for a split second, Billy changed his mind and hoped they would stay put. Or at least he wanted to tell them to be careful, to tell the boys to get the girls home safe. It's what his father would have told him at that age, what his father no doubt had told him many times. But the kids made a run for it as the first wet drops made their way to the ground, the open doors ushering in a gust of humid August air behind them.

Mercifully alone, Billy let all worry for the kids slip away and turned his attention back to the steaming cup of comfort before him. He could enjoy that first satisfying sip better now that he had the patio all to himself. He didn't, however, need the caffeine. He was already jumpy, out of sorts, as it was, which was nothing new considering where he had been and what he had been doing. Two hours of sitting around and talking about his screw-ups and his weaknesses and listening to others do the same was enough to make him want to crawl out of his own skin and hide from the world. That's why he had sought caffeine and solitude at Crimson Lights. It was safe from the noise and chaos waiting for him at the restaurant and the suffocating brotherly concern waiting for him at Jack's. And well, home, home still wasn't an option.

Billy took another long drink of coffee and settled back into his chair. He hated going to those gambler's anonymous meetings, but they were something he had to do. They were part of his punishment for screwing up yet again, just one price he had to pay if he was ever going to win Victoria back.

Victoria.

He rubbed his face and smiled at the thought of her, again grateful to be alone. Things were getting better between them. He knew it, felt it every time they were together. They were talking more and fighting less. And Victoria, she was seeking him out, making up reasons to come by On the Boulevard, fighting the urge to smile at his jokes, to kiss him when they got a little too close. Then there was the look on her face when Johnny said "Dada" for the first time. That look of joy and pride and love, that was enough encouragement to keep him going, determined to win her back. And he would. He would win her back. All he had to do was come up with a plan to make her remember that they were worth saving. She wasn't ready for a date yet, that's what she told him, but it was inevitable that she would say yes. And when she did, he had to be prepared. His first instinct was a return trip to the arcade to recreate their very first official date, complete with Donkey Kong and junk food and the photo booth. Or they could go for sushi and karaoke, an ode to Tokyo. Or, if things went really well, he could maybe even convince her to leave Johnny with Nikki for a weekend while they headed south for rum cake and a limbo bar. Hell, at this point he would be happy with TV dinners and a night on the couch.

He just had to do it right. Whatever he decided on, he had to do it right. That's what she had said at On the Boulevard a few days ago. He had to win her back the right way. No more schemes. No more screw-ups. And that's what scared him, that a trip down memory wouldn't be enough this time. Maybe he would have to take a different approach and go all in, even if that meant doing something he wasn't entirely comfortable with.

Billy sighed heavily and sat up straight. There was a flyer in his back pocket, yellow and crumpled and folded hastily to fit. He had almost tossed it after the meeting. Some of the attendees had. They either weren't ready, he rationalized, or they didn't have anything worth fighting for. Billy did, though. And his pride would have to take a backseat for once.

It was only 9:30. Johnny would certainly be in bed, but Victoria would still be up, working no doubt. Reaching for his phone hidden among the discarded sugar packets, nerves turned to excitement at the thought of talking to her, no matter the reason for the call. This would prove it to her, that he was serious about making things right and that he was taking the steps to get better. And if it meant getting her back, getting his home and his family back, there was no hell, real or imagined, that Billy wasn't prepared to walk through.

His phone had been off for the meeting, and turning it on, Billy saw he had four missed calls. None of them from Victoria. They were all from his mother, each message imploring him to call her right away. And just like that, that sinking feeling that always seemed to come when life appeared on the upswing, washed away the illusion and promise of happiness.

* * *

><p>"Katherine's dead."<p>

Victoria had answered her phone blindly, stretching and sliding her body strategically across the sofa to prevent waking the towheaded baby sleeping against her chest. The voice on the other end of the phone was immediately familiar despite obvious upset, but the information, those two simple words, sounded foreign and surreal.

"What?" she asked her mother, the sting of tears in her eyes, her focus split between the pone call and keeping Johnny from waking up. He'd had trouble sleeping lately. Initially, she had blamed a new tooth, but the fact that it started after Billy moved out was not lost on her. Even a baby could sense something was off, that his family was in flux, and it usually took cuddles on the couch for him to pass out for the night.

"She's gone, sweetheart. She –she passed away during her trip with Murphy. We've lost her."

The sadness in her mother's voice infected Victoria, and silent tears spilled from her eyes. As Nikki relayed the events of the evening, how they had all gathered at Katherine's house and learned of her passing from Murphy, Victoria soothed herself by rubbing Johnny's back while memories of the woman she had known all her life played gently through her mind. Katherine had been there for everything, always a part of her mother and father's lives, separately and together. She had been there for weddings and deaths and the births of her children. And now there was simply one less person in the world to love her, one less person to turn to.

"Where are you? Are you at the ranch?" Victoria removed her hand from Johnny's back long enough to wipe the tears away. She couldn't dwell on what Katherine's death meant to her. Her mother would need her now, just as she had the last time they thought Katherine died. "I can be there as soon as I can get a sitter for Johnny."

"No, honey, that's okay," she heard through her phone. "You don't need to do that. Your father is here. You stay there and give my grandson a kiss for me."

"It's no trouble, Mom. Honestly."

"Angel, there's nothing I would like more than to see your beautiful face tonight, but I'm fine. Really. I don't have any urges to drink. Your father and I will take care of each other."

"Okay," Victoria accepted. And after promising to come see them tomorrow, Victoria hung up and turned her eyes down to Johnny, still sound asleep and oblivious to the fact that the world had just changed.

Her thoughts went straight to Billy. Did he know yet? Should she call him? Two months ago, that wouldn't even be a question. Of course, two months ago, he would be there with her. Victoria knew how much Katherine meant to Billy. She knew about their special relationship. Though not connected by blood, they were kindred spirits, bound by love and shared weaknesses and a love for life. Losing her would affect him. Of that, she was certain. And that scared her.

Victoria picked up her phone once more and slid her thumb across the screen. But she stopped short of placing the call. Things weren't right between them. Not yet. He might take her reaching out as a sign of something more, that she was ready to forgive, and that wouldn't be fair to any of them. Not to him and his recovery. Not to Johnny. And not to her fragile heart.

Outside, a crack of thunder boomed without warning, and she and Johnny both nearly jumped out of their skin. His eyes flew open, and his perfect little lips quivered in fear.

"Shhhh. It's okay, baby," she whispered and pulled him tighter against her. "Mama's here. Mama's here, and everything's going to be fine."

She wanted him to feel that, to feel safe. She wanted her words to be true for her son, even if tonight, right now, nothing in the world felt okay. Even if the only person who always made her feel that things would be okay couldn't be there.

* * *

><p>The storm was over, and all that remained of it were the water droplets dotting the living room windows. Victoria was transfixed by these wet pearls, watching as one after another broke and raced each other down the glass darkened by night. Sometimes, two converged, forming one that traveled quicker and more efficiently than the single drops.<p>

It felt like an eternity had passed since Nikki's phone call, but in reality and according to the clock she checked more often than she should, it had only been a couple of hours. She had gotten Johnny back into his crib long ago, with much less fuss than she had anticipated, and in vain, she had even tried to put herself to bed. But it was no use. There was no amount of tea or reading or counting sheep that could tire her tonight.

She considered ignoring her mother's request and calling Hannah to come stay with Johnny while she went to the ranch. But she knew that doing so wouldn't be for her mother's benefit. It would be for her. So that she didn't have to be all alone.

She sighed and shook her head, causing her focus to shift from the water droplets to her own weary reflection in the window. She should have called him. She should have called Billy and made sure he knew about Katherine and that he was okay. Even if was selfish and even if it gave him the wrong idea about them, she should have called him. He was Johnny's father, and despite everything, she loved him. And now it was too late, too late to call him if he were safe at Jack's and too painful to call him if he wasn't. She tried not to think of all the self-destructive things he could be drowning in, but it was her nature, and considering the last few months, completely justified.

She turned away from her reflection sharply and pulled the open ends of her robe around her. This was useless. She was useless. And no amount of worrying or watching raindrops would change anything. It wouldn't bring Katherine back. It wouldn't bring her any comfort. And it wouldn't help Billy. She needed to rest, to sleep, and in the morning things would be easier, clearer. They had to be.

She made it to the third step of the staircase when she heard a noise outside the door, at first a soft tinkling, then a rattling and series of thuds. And when the door gave way and opened, her heart stopped, her breathing hitched.

A shadowy figure stumbled across the threshold with all the confidence and balance of a baby's first steps and then waved an arm wildly in the dark until he found the door and closed it softly but clumsily behind him. Something dropped to the floor, keys, and the man, it was a man now, bent, defeated and exhausted, to retrieve them before stumbling back against the door for support.

Fear left Victoria then, fear of the unknown, only to be replaced by a different, familiar fear. She would know that frame anywhere, had even picked it out instantly in a crowded airport bar once.

"Billy," she breathed into the dark.


	2. Chapter 2

One quick note about this chapter. I don't write to music as I know many people do, but certain songs often provide inspiration for my stories, scenes and obviously titles. This story is no different, and this chapter in particular was inspired by a song called "Healing Hands" by Marc Cohn. I know for some people knowing these things adds something to stories; for others it doesn't. But I thought I would share. The tone of this chapter was difficult, so maybe the song will enhance it.

Thanks for reading,

Rhonda

Healing Hands

Chapter 2

It might have been that he was disoriented and not expecting to see her. It might have been the way she was standing there, on the staircase, in the dark, hovering above him as if suspended in air. Or that the little bit of moonlight and streetlight peeking through the windows gathered around her, reflecting off her skin and clothes so that she fairly glowed. But whatever the cause, for one very real millisecond, Billy believed he had died. And that God had shown him mercy.

Then she spoke, his name, and he tumbled back to earth. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but in it he heard fear and relief and in that last syllable, a lilt of something that stung despite the numbness he felt. Disappointment. She was disappointed, and he was left wondering why. Because it was him? Because he was there? But then Billy recalled his less than dignified entrance and realized what it must have looked like from her vantage point.

"I'm not drunk."

Victoria didn't move or speak, didn't acknowledge his confession in any way and gave no indication as to whether she believed him or not. He wanted her to believe him though, needed it in a way he couldn't have expected. Still gripping his keys, Billy slid his arm up the door, stretching until he felt the object he was looking for. A soft glow emanated from the sconce by the staircase, diminishing the illusion before him, but illuminating the truth.

"I haven't had a single drink," he said. "Promise."

Certain that his promises held little stock with her at the moment, Billy slipped his keys into his pocket and pushed himself away from the door, forcing his tired body upright. She was watching him, her expression unreadable as he outstretched his arms and placed the heel of his right foot in front of his left. He then did the same with his left foot and repeated the sequence until he had walked a perfectly straight and sober line to the foot of the staircase. He stopped there, sensing a boundary he wasn't permitted to cross.

"I haven't been gambling either."

Still, Victoria said nothing, but the tension in her shoulders eased slightly, and he knew she was convinced. She was little more than an arm's length away from him now, so close he could almost reach out and grab her, pull her to him. But that wasn't his privilege anymore, no matter how much he wanted to. But in the light and with this new proximity he could, however, drink in the sight of her in a way the dark hadn't allowed. Sometimes the remembrance of a thing can be more beautiful than its reality. That was never true when it came to Victoria, and tonight was no exception. Her hair fell in dark, messy waves around her naked face. She was dressed for bed, a harsh reminder of the late hour. In the winter months, she always came to bed buried under layers of clothing- pajamas, socks, sweaters, but in the summer, she preferred something less. Billy, too, preferred the something less. Tonight, the something less she wore under an open, matching robe was simple and white, no lace or adornments on the shiny fabric that skimmed her body loosely from the visible tips of her breasts down to her thighs. But Billy knew from experience that its simplicity was misleading, that it was made from the finest silk available.

"I didn't-I didn't mean to wake you," he stammered, meeting her eyes squarely for the first time tonight. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't," she finally spoke. His gaze was unnerving, his presence still a shock, and in response, she looked away and wrapped her arms around herself. "I, um, I couldn't really sleep. Not after…"

She didn't finish the sentence, but Billy nodded a quiet understanding of the unspoken, the first acknowledgement that they both knew about Katherine's death. "Johnny asleep?"

She nodded her head and offered nothing more.

"The, uh, the storm didn't scare him?" He was making small talk, and all the while, he was aware of how ridiculous it was. He was standing in his home, or what had been his home until recently, in the middle of the night making small talk with his wife, all to avoid saying the things he should be saying, the things his stubborn male pride prevented him from saying.

"A little," she said and narrowed her eyes in concentration, or maybe it was confusion, as she tried to figure out what exactly he had come for. "The thunder woke him once, but he went right back to sleep. He can sleep through just about anything, you know? Just like his dad."

Billy's mouth turned up in a sort of half smile at her words, but when he felt the sting of tears and the ache of an old wound, he looked down at his fidgeting hands. He imagined their son startled awake by a noise, and he imagined Victoria comforting him back to sleep. He imagined all those people who warned him he would never be like his father, and he wanted to tell his wife that if he had anything to do with it, the tradition would continue and Johnny would turn out nothing like him. His son wouldn't be a coward or a screw-up. He wouldn't have demons that hurt the people he loved over and over again. He wouldn't do anything that would keep him from his family. He would love openly and never doubt the love he received. And he would never stand in front of the woman he loved and not be able to tell her the things he needed to say.

"I don't know why I'm here, Vick," he choked out with a shrug of his shoulders. He forced his eyes up to meet hers, until the weight of honesty was too much and he had to look away again.

"I drove around," he started again, remembering the returned phone call to his mother and how he had feared that death would taste like coffee from now on. "I drove around for a long time. My mom, she-she wanted me to come to the mansion, but I couldn't. I couldn't sit there and listen to people talk about funerals and burial plans and, and… And I couldn't go back to Jack's because it would have just been more of the same there. People saying things like 'she lived a long life' and 'she'll never really be gone.' So then I just-I ended up here. I ended up here because it was the only place I wanted to be. Because I need my wife. I need you."

He was fighting the tears, but he was losing. He rubbed roughly at the back of his neck as if that would stop them, and though he sensed he was on the verge of losing it and wanted nothing more than to retreat, he wouldn't. Not tonight.

"I know I don't have the right to be here, Vick. Or to expect you to want me here. I know that. I do. And I didn't mean to bother you. I just thought… I could maybe sit on the couch… in the dark for a little while…and remember what it was like. What it was like to have everything."

The way he was looking at her, wet-faced and lost, was her undoing. She eased down one step and then another so that she was nearly face to face with him, that last step giving her a slight height advantage still.

"She's gone, Victoria," he cried. "She's really gone this time, isn't she?"

She reached for him, pulled him to her forcefully, an embrace so strong she lost her balance and had to grab onto the banister to keep them both from falling over. He grabbed onto her like a lifeline, wrapping his arms around her waist, caught between her robe and nightgown so that the heat of his arms penetrated her skin. He released his grief onto her, his tears wet on her chest, and Victoria simply held on, letting him cry as she stroked his back.

When she felt him grow calm, Victoria slid her hands up to his shoulders, her touch light, gentle as they made contact with the skin of his neck. Cradling his head, a thumb on either side of his face, her fingers locked in the fullness of his hair, she tilted his face up until their eyes met. There were no words she could say to make him feel better, nothing she could say to make herself feel better. Not tonight anyway. So she kissed him instead, a soft, chaste kiss to the middle of his forehead. He closed his eyes to receive her gift, and when he did she placed another kiss on first one cheek and then the other.

What was meant to be an innocent form of comfort soon turned to something else. Her mouth lingered just a little too long on his cheek, and when she did pull her lips away, she remained close, too close. Billy was acutely aware of every detail, the feel of her flesh beneath the silk at her waist, the flutter of eyelashes against his face, the quickness of her heart pulsating at every point of contact. Or maybe it was his heartbeat. Their faces were so close that every sweet breath she exhaled was his next, and all he wanted to do, all he had wanted to do since he first laid eyes on her heavenly presence tonight, was kiss her.

"It's late," she breathed into his ear.

Billy felt the sinking of disappointment in the pit of his stomach, but quickly chose to give it up. It was enough. What she had given him, this moment, it would be enough. He would make it be enough. He would turn around and walk out the door. He would go to Jack's and not do anything stupid because a few minutes in her arms, that was enough, enough to remember what he still had to gain.

He relaxed his grip on her waist and allowed a narrow space to ease between them. Her hands slid from his face, one falling to her side, the other she placed on top of one of his. Billy took it as a sign to go, but when he went to pull away, her hand remained with his, her fingers linking with his.

"You should sleep," she said to his puzzled face and then turned to start up the stairs. The length of their joined arms elongated, until the tug prompted Billy to either break the connection or follow her. He followed. And the heavy clomp of his shoes echoed the soft padding of her bare feet, one slow step at a time.

* * *

><p>If for a minute he supposed she was leading him to the guestroom or even to Johnny's room where he could spend the night in a chair and let the lullaby of baby's breath soothe him, he was soon proven wrong. She did take him to the nursery, but not to stay. They stood over the crib, hand in hand still, and watched the gentle rise and fall of their son's chest, proof that he was both breathing fine and sleeping peacefully. Victoria let go of Billy's hand long enough to pull Johnny's twisted blanket free and smooth it back across his body, and when they were both convinced he was in dreamland for the night, they tiptoed out as quietly as they had entered.<p>

And then, without him knowing exactly how, they were outside the bedroom, their bedroom. The door was partially open, and with her free hand, Victoria widened the entrance and welcomed him into the soft glow provided by the bedside lamp. Her side of the bed was unmade, with pillows stacked and indented against the headboard, while his side remained untouched, unslept in for weeks. Her bedside table told him the story of her evening. There was a cup and saucer teetering on the edge, the string of a teabag cascading down the side, and next to it, a book, opened midway and lying pages side down. Billy didn't need to read the faded, hunched spine to know which book it was. It had to be Twain, a collection of his quotes her father had given her. It was the book she always went to for comfort, but it seemed that tonight Twain hadn't been enough.

The bedroom door closed gently behind him, and Billy felt suddenly strange in a room he had always been so comfortable in. It was the sensation of having fidgeting hands and no pockets to cage them in, except it was his whole body that felt out of place. So, he sat, on the end of the bed while Victoria flitted about the room, securing the cup and saucer, closing the book, turning down his side of the bed, removing the robe that matched the something less she was wearing and hanging it across the end of the bed, right next to him. His eyes followed her through all of her tasks, trying to discern what she would do next, but when she stopped, no chores left to busy herself with, he realized she felt as strange as he did. It was just that she handled it different. She always handled things different.

Billy envied her burst of nervous energy. He was so drained he felt like a blob of putty waiting to be formed into something useful, something alive. As if reading his mind, Victoria dropped slowly to her knees in front of him and sat back against her legs, a reversal of the height advantage she had had earlier on the staircase. She reached for him, one hand taking hold of the back of his left leg, lifting it enough so that her other hand could slide his shoe from his foot. She then peeled away his sock, caressing the newly uncovered skin before gently returning his foot to the floor. She did the same for his right foot, just as lovingly, just as slowly, and when she was done, she rose to her knees and tentatively placed the palms of her hands on his denim-covered thighs.

Her blue eyes were on his, and the tightening in his chest made him realize he hadn't taken a breath in a long time. He released the air he was holding as Victoria's hands slid farther up his legs, stopping when she reached the buttoned ends of his shirt. One by one, she undid them, and in doing so undid him. When each tiny circle had been released, she rose to her feet and pulled him with her. Her hands pushed away enough of his shirt to allow her delicate hands inside. She touched him, her fingertips grazing his warm, soft skin, lingering in the light wisps of hair in the center of his chest before dancing their way to his shoulders and easing the fabric from his body. She had complete control of him, and he was letting her, letting her take care of him, but still there was a question looming in the back of his mind.

An assumption had been made when he followed her up the stairs, an assumption that had seemed confirmed when she brought him to their bedroom instead of the guestroom or Johnny's room or any other room in the house. But maybe he was crazy, or drunk after all. Or worse, maybe he had lost his ability to read her. Maybe she had only intended for him to sleep, but the more she touched him, the more alive he became, the more the grief and the darkness receded into memory. And she had to know, she had to know the effect she was having on him. She had to know that when her hands moved to his waist, fumbling to free his belt, her fingers scraping against the tender skin beneath his jeans as she worked on the button and then the zipper, that there was only thing on his mind. She was too close to him not to know his desire for her, too close not to know that he was dizzy with the need to kiss her.

So he did, catching her off guard, capturing her lower lip between his. He grabbed her hips for balance and pulled her mouth harder against his. She responded with the same hunger, the hunger of weeks apart, her hands working feverishly to push the last bits of clothing from his body, while Billy's hands found themselves full of gathered silk. But then he stopped, suddenly, out of breath and full of reservation. He had to know. He had to hear it from her. Before things went any further, he had to know for certain. This, them, it couldn't be another thing she resented him for.

Her face was flushed when he dared to look at her, her lips were swollen, her chest heaving, her eyes round with passion. Her body was telling him she wanted it, but it wasn't enough. He had to know that she wanted it.

"Vick?" he asked in a whisper so raw and tender it hurt.

She swallowed hard and cast a glance down to where her nightgown was gathered in Billy's hands up to her waist, exposing more of her, but modest compared to him. Fixing her eyes on his again, Victoria's hands floated away from his skin, rising as if carried by a breeze, rising until they extended above her head like the graceful branches of a tree. This was her sign. Clear. Certain. Unwavering. And her eyes, those expressive blue orbs, confirmed that this was what she had wanted, that he was what she wanted. She was offering him love and comfort, but beyond that, Billy saw for the first time tonight, that what she was offering she was asking for in return. She needed him. She needed him to comfort her. To hold her. To love her. Because her heart was broken too, and he had been too selfish to notice before.

Billy relaxed his hands, letting the silky material that had grown taut with her movement, fall back against her body. He saw the questioning look on her face, the awful fear of rejection, but he ignored it, his hands reaching lower, sliding beneath the silk he had just held, his palms flattening against her thighs. Her eyes flashed closed for an instant at his touch, and a needy sigh fell from her lips as his hands began a journey up her body, over the hardness of her hips and the thin straps that covered either side, over the soft inward curve of her stomach, and up the rippled ridges of her ribs, which made her flinch against his ticklish touch. As his thumbs caressed the full underside of her breasts, coming close to but never touching their sensitive tips, the pool of silk forming between his arms grew larger and larger the higher he went. He never stopped looking into her eyes, losing sight of her face only for the brief passage of silk up the extended length of her arms until fingertips finally met fingertips and the silk pool cascaded to the floor behind Victoria. Only then did he break her gaze, following the reverse journey of his hands back down her body. Yes, he thought to himself, the remembrance of some things could never be as beautiful as their reality.

It occurred to Billy then that "making love" was a ridiculous euphemism. You couldn't make something as precious as love. You could give it if you were generous. You could receive it if you were lucky. You could show it if you were brave. And you could share it if you were blessed. But you couldn't make it. The love had to already be there, and how you got that, Billy wasn't sure.

As he kissed her again, softly this time, to make it last, Billy vowed that tonight he would be generous and lucky and brave and most of all, blessed.

* * *

><p>It was amazing the things you could see in the dark, once your eyes were given the chance to adapt to their new reality. Given time and just the tiniest bit of light, darkness always receded into shades of grey, shadows that became more and more familiar: a chair, a lamp, a person. Over the years, Victoria had become an expert at seeing in the dark. She could navigate her way down the stairs, to the kitchen for a bottle, and back up to the nursery with little more than the light on the baby monitor.<p>

Tonight, in the dark, she used her expertise to watch Billy fall asleep. After their bodies had surrendered to a violent pleasure, after they had melted against each other and then collapsed against soft sheets, breathless and immune to hurt and pain, she watched him. She watched him from where she lay on her side, only inches away from him except for where their legs remained intertwined. He lay on his back, his face turned towards her, that curl of hair falling innocently across his forehead. He had possession of her, through his steady gaze and through the arm that had snaked its way between their bodies, under the sheet that covered them both only to their waists and planted itself firmly across her bare hip. A sheen of sweat covered his chest, making the rise and fall more visible in the dark. She watched as his breathing returned to normal and then slowed to a contagious rhythm. His eyelids slipped lower and lower over eyes that were only blue in her memory. He was fighting sleep, the same way Johnny did, afraid he would miss something, that he would wake and she would be gone, that it all would prove to be a dream. For reassurance, she linked her arm over his possessive one, silently telling him she would be there all night. He finally conceded, allowing Victoria to witness the exact moment he gave in to sleep.

True darkness was a rare thing. There was almost always a sliver of moonlight, or the glow of a city in the distance, or a thread of light beneath a closed door, or dots of red from any number of electronics. But Victoria knew all too well that there were places completely devoid of light, like a room in a basement somewhere in Miami where it had been so dark she couldn't see her hand in front of her face. That kind of darkness made her feel small and helpless and hopeless. But even then there were the moments Eddie would come and flood the room with light, bringing her food and a phone where sometimes she could hear Billy's voice and remember that some kinds of light weren't visible.

And then there was that last room, where the men who killed Eddie took her, where they left her to die alone. Yet, even in that darkest moment, she had survived. Billy had saved her. Over and over again, she had lived through darkness and survived. That was why she never panicked at the sudden loss of light. She knew that eventually there would be light. There simply had to be light. Some people had a harder time believing that than others. People like Billy.

Morning was coming. It was still a few hours away, but she felt it, dreaded it. Things would be clearer in the morning, that was the promise people always made, presuming that time and light would make death more palatable. But really, it would only make Katherine's death more real and force the painful process of healing to begin.

And then there was Billy. In the morning, she would have to face him in more than moonlight or lamplight. And that scared her more than any dark space ever could. She hadn't imagined her night ending like this when her mother called and told her about Katherine. Or maybe she was lying to herself and had known he would be in her bed, their bed, the moment he stumbled through the front door. She didn't regret it. It had felt right from the first touch, still felt right. But this moment of feeling right changed absolutely nothing, for her anyway. She still wasn't ready to forgive, still wasn't ready for him to come home. And he wasn't ready either, no matter how he protested that he was. And that's what worried her, that in the clear light of morning he would see tonight as forgiveness, the final step in their healing.

In the dark, Victoria moved Billy's possessive arm off of her hip, raising it carefully until she could tuck herself beneath it, finding a spot to lay her head on his chest. In his sleep, Billy responded from memory, accepting her, pulling her closer to him. She would give herself the rest of the night to be with him, and when the morning came, well she prayed that when morning came, things would be clearer, for both of them.


	3. Chapter 3

Healing Hands

Chapter 3

Morning crept up on Billy like a thief, taking back the darkness that had provided him a few hours of peace. It was unapologetic in its thievery, the bright, victorious sun burning red against his closed eyelids, like a neon sign insisting it was time to wake up. But Billy fought against consciousness, squeezing his eyes shut tighter, rolling his body away from the source of the light, crawling back into his dreams and away from the looming sense of loss that waited for him on the other side.

It was silk, though, and not the sun that ultimately cost him the battle. It was just a glimmer of a memory too real to be a dream that tugged gently at the edges of sleep, urging him towards wakefulness with the promise of something to counter the loss he sensed but couldn't name. It was an image and an urging so strong and so persistent that Billy finally relinquished and opened his eyes. But all that greeted him was a vast, smooth plane of cotton and no sign of the silk he longed for.

He felt duped and heavy with confusion. He was in his bed, the most right place in the world, but something, somehow, felt off kilter. Billy rubbed at his eyes and yawned, and as the anesthesia of sleep slowly wore off, he remembered what he had wanted to forget. Katherine was dead. The woman he had loved as a grandmother even though she wasn't, the woman who had loved him the same in return, who had been the keeper of his confidences, the sharer of his demons, she was gone, and he would never see her again. He rolled back over in defeat, and the rest of last night came with him. He remembered it all now, his meeting, the teenagers and the storm, the coffee, the phone call, the stairs. He remembered how more than once in the course of a few hours, hope had appeared and then diminished, only to reappear in again and again in the same form.

Victoria.

Mostly, he remembered Victoria. He remembered the way she looked on the staircase, ethereal and untouchable. He remembered the realness of her as she had held him while he cried. He remembered the scent of her, the taste of her, the sound of her voice inviting him upstairs. He remembered the feel of her body beneath his hands. Closing his eyes, he saw her rising above him for the second time that night, the length of both legs clamped around his waist, her chest pounding against his, his hands caught between the silky skin of her bare back and the silky waves of her hair. He remembered the looks of desire and love and how she never closed her eyes. Not once. Not even when the end came and her whole body trembled and then his did too. He remembered that her eyes, they were the very last thing his had seen.

And now she was gone, the bed they had shared empty. Two losses dealt him in a matter of minutes.

Reluctant but curious, Billy sat up and looked around the room for signs of her. The day was beautiful, from what he could see from the windows, which seemed a waste to him given the sadness he felt. The door to the master bath was open, the lights off, but the bedroom door was closed. The tea cup he could have sworn he saw on her nightstand last night was gone, and the book he so vividly remembered her closing had disappeared as well, leaving him to wonder if maybe it had all been a dream. Maybe she had never been there. Maybe the last few weeks and even months had never happened, he had never lied to her, never gambled away their future. He could have continued believing that, and a part of him wanted to, if it hadn't been for his clothes, still pooled on the floor where they had been so carelessly tossed.

He had to get up and face the day. And the night. He knew that, knew he couldn't hide from his responsibilities and the business of death despite having very little to look forward to. Just as he prepared to drag himself from the bed, the room stilled and he heard the unmistakable squeals of a one-year-old followed by a laugh that eased into the cracks of his soul, filling them in with light and love. It was the sounds of home, his siren's call luring him back into the land of the living.

* * *

><p>On any given day, Victoria's mood could be altered instantly by the sound of Johnny's laugh, but today more than others, she was grateful for him and his goofy grin. He was in rare form this morning, as though he sensed she needed it, that the whole world needed reminding of reasons to smile. He was covered in syrup and busy shoveling handfuls of soggy pancake into his mouth. He was keeping her busy too, busy cutting up a third serving into Johnny-sized pieces. But it was the game he was playing with Keely that made her stomach ache with laughter.<p>

Her faithful companion was where he could be found every morning at breakfast time, parked beside the dining room table, waiting patiently for the inevitable precious morsels to fall from the highchair's edge. But Johnny had caught on to what Keely was doing and began taunting the dog by holding handfuls of mushy pancake over the side of his highchair to lure Keely to him. Every time Keely would get close enough to accept the offer, the blue-eyed baby would snatch his hand away and squeal in laughter at his own trick. He did this two to three times with each handful before finally emptying his hand and rewarding his participating victim. Victoria knew she should probably scold her son for taunting the dog or for feeding him from the table, but she didn't have it in her. Not this morning. It was good to see him laugh, and it felt good for her to laugh, too. There would be enough sadness in the days to come.

Victoria deposited the newly cut pancake into the pool of syrup Johnny had created on the tray of his highchair, and finally having a free second, she sought the mug of coffee she had poured forever ago. To her surprise it was still hot, and when she blew into it, the scent came wafting back to her nose. She blushed involuntarily as thoughts turned to Billy. He had tasted like coffee last night. She first smelled it on his breath on the stairs, and then when he kissed her, a kiss that had surprised her though she knew it was coming, it was coffee, rich and warm and familiar, she had tasted.

She was on the verge of getting lost in the dangerous thoughts she had been trying to avoid all morning when the loudest squeal she had ever heard pierced the air, causing her to nearly spill her coffee. It seemed that Keely had learned a trick of his own. Instead of waiting for a scrap to fall, the dog was licking at the bottom of Johnny's foot, which caused him to giggle and squirm so much he let go of the bite of pancake before he meant to.

"Johnny," she admonished softly while trying hard to stifle a laugh. "Shhhh. You're going to wake your daddy up."

That word, the one he had just recently mastered a version of earned her all of the little boy's attention. The look of excitement on his face, though, only made her feel sad and guilty as she realized once again the affect Billy's absence from their son's daily life had on him.

"Yes, he's here," she smiled gently. "But he's sleeping. See, your daddy had kind of a rough night last night, so we need to let him sleep a little bit longer. Okay?"

"Too late."

His voice came from the doorway of the dining room, low and shy. He was standing there, leaning against the hard doorframe as if he'd been there a while. He looked good. That was the first thing that struck her. His face still carried a weariness, but he looked a hundred times better than when he had stumbled through the front door. He was wearing clean clothes, jeans and a blue button-up shirt rolled to his elbows. Suddenly, she was a little self-conscious of her own appearance, her messy hair pulled back hastily to make breakfast and the fact that she was still wearing the same nightgown and robe from last night. Billy, too, seemed focused on that fact.

"Hi," he said to her and dug his hands sheepishly into his pockets.

"Hi."

Her response was automatic, a reflex or an echo. Both unsure of what to say next, they let their eyes do the talking, each taking silent stock of the other, trying to navigate the sudden and strange awkwardness. Johnny broke the silence and saved the day when he finally caught sight of Billy and clapped his sticky hands excitedly together while rattling off a string of "Da-da's."

"Hey, buddy." Billy tore his eyes away from Victoria slowly and approached his grinning son. "Whatcha got there? Huh? You got pancakes?"

Johnny responded by picking up a handful of his breakfast and with a wide, toothy grin proudly shoved the handful into his mouth. Billy laughed, a real, genuine laugh, and Victoria watched his mood shift just as instantly as hers had.

"Careful," she warned as Billy moved his hand to rub Johnny's head. "He's sort of wearing the syrup."

"I see that." Her warning came too late, and Billy gladly accepted the towel she offered him and wiped his hand clean again. "Thanks a lot, man."

"Believe it or not some actually did make it into his mouth. That's his third pancake. Of course, Keely had some too."

"Three? You ate three pancakes? See, I told you, Vick. This boy's gonna be a linebacker."

"Do you want some?" she asked when he bent to give Keely some morning love. But the bemused look he shot her flustered her and reddened her cheeks for a second time. "Breakfast I mean. Do you want some breakfast? There's um…there's pancakes. Obviously. And there was syrup. But there's fruit. And coffee. There's coffee."

"Yeah. Sure." He smiled inwardly at her nervousness, knowing he was the cause. "A guy's got to eat, right?"

He wasn't really hungry, but he didn't tell her that. What she was offering, breakfast with his family, a few more minute together, he couldn't pass that up. He slipped into the chair opposite her so that Johnny was flanked by his parents and accepted the cup of coffee she poured him and the empty plate she handed him. Though he had no appetite, he was craving caffeine, and after the first satisfying sip, his favorite sip, he was relieved to find he was wrong. Coffee wasn't forever tainted by death. It tasted like breakfast with his family instead. Like home.

They ate in relative silence, doting on Johnny mostly, the conversation between them focused on his newest tooth, an upcoming doctor's appointment, his latest attempts at new words. They laughed easily as Victoria told him about Johnny's taunting of Keely, but the more she talked, the more certain she became that he had been standing in the doorway a while, watching them. There was no talk of Katherine. Or death. Or addiction. Or last night. All of the elephants in the room were allowed to roam clumsily free.

Johnny grew restless after a while and straightened the length of his body in protest of his confinement. Billy watched as Victoria wiped him as free of syrup as she could and then turned him loose. He toddled at the highest speed he was capable of into the living room, heading straight for his crayons and half-finished masterpiece on the coffee table. Keely followed behind his devoted little taunter, and it was just the two of them again, peering speechlessly at each other over the rims of their coffee cups.

She couldn't look at him for long, but each time she looked away, she found that she also couldn't not look at him. The sun streaming in through the door behind her was warm on her back and cast a shadow of leaves on the table. She focused on the pattern, tracing it idly with her finger to avoid him, him and the band of elephants grown restless without the lion tamer present. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him lean across the plate of food he had barely touched, a conspiratorial look on his face.

"This is kinda silly."

She agreed with a smile and a nod, and almost instantly, there was a little less tension in the room, a little more air to breathe. It made her brave enough to address another elephant.

"How are you?"

He sighed and that pained half-smile of his graced his face. "It doesn't feel real." For a minute she wondered if he understood she was asking about Katherine and not the undefined situation between them. "I mean…everything looks the same, but it feels different…knowing she's not here anymore."

"Yeah. I know what you mean. How's your mom? You talk to her yet?"

"Uh-uh. Not since last night when she wanted me to…" He stopped and rubbed his face, remembering his cowardice and more importantly his need to be home. "I guess I've been putting it off. What about you? How's your mom?"

"Sad," she answered honestly, "but she seemed a little better this morning. I'm actually going out to the ranch later to see her. Just as soon as Hannah gets here. I don't really think I should take Johnny just yet."

He wasn't sure if her statement was meant as a sign that it was time for him to leave, but not willing to risk overstaying his welcome, Billy took one last sip of coffee and scooted his chair back.

"Yeah, I should, uh, I should probably get going too. Can't be a coward forever."

"Oh, yeah. Yes. Of course." She rose from the table at the same he did, pulling her robe tighter around her, and followed his reluctant, meandering path to the door. She stopped at the stairs, leaving a safe distance between them and covered her disappointment at the prospect of him leaving with a practiced smile.

"I was thinking I might stop by the mansion later. To pay my respects."

His eyes lit up with a smile at the possibility of seeing her again. "That would be great. I'm sure they would really appreciate it."

"I might even bring Johnny. Depending on what kind of mood he's in after his nap."

Once again he was grateful to her. She was still taking care of him, anticipating his needs well in advance, slipping a tiny piece of hope into his pocket for later. She didn't have to do it. She didn't owe him anything. In fact, it was almost always the other way around. And seeing her there by the stairs, wearing that same bit of silk as last night, he knew he couldn't leave without offering her something, a little proof that her good deeds weren't in vain.

"Listen, Vick," he started nervously. "About last night…"

"Billy," she said abruptly and took a defensive stance, hugging her arms close to her body in self-protection. "We don't have to talk about that. Not now." The truth was she had grown accustomed to that last elephant in the room, her own cowardice hoping he would leave without addressing it.

"No, I have to say this. Please let me say this. Last night was…"

"Nice," she finished for him.

"Nice? Ouch." He grabbed at his chest, feigning a mortal wound and leaned closer to her, lowering his voice to a playful whisper. "Don't go spreading that around, will ya?"

She smiled despite herself and rolled her eyes at his wounded ego. But he lingered too close to her for too long, and all she could remember was him. "It was beautiful, Billy."

Her choice of words caught him off guard and hit him at the place where his hand still lay, just above his heart. "Yeah. Beautiful," he repeated and stood up straight again, giving her back her space. "But I shouldn't bother packing my things at Jack's, huh?"

Her silence was her confirmation, and the teary, apologetic look on her face was all the consolation she could offer. She had known the truth would hurt him, but she hadn't expected how much it would hurt her.

"No." His voice was tender, and he shook his head against her pained expression. "I get it, Vick. I get it. But I want you to know that I'm not going to stop trying. I'm going to win you back. I swear to you I'm going to win you back. And I'm going to do it right. Because after last night, after that beautiful last night, I know I can't live without you."

If he had moved to kiss her then, she would have let him. If he had asked for forgiveness, she would have granted it. But neither happened, and whether he would have, she would never know because for the second time that morning, Johnny saved them. He came to her with tears of his own, whimpering and holding up a thumb with some invisible injury. He clamped onto her leg, claiming her for his own, and she scooped him up immediately, planting healing kisses on both the boo-boo and his wet face. Billy watched with a mixture of envy and understanding.

"Well, I should…" He motioned towards the door, and she nodded. "So I'll see you later maybe? At the mansion?"

"Yeah," she smiled. "We'll be there."

He returned her smile and then with a little hesitation, approached them, his eyes purposefully on Johnny. "Hey, you okay?" Fully healed, his hurt already forgotten, the little boy grinned and accepted the goodbye kiss his father placed on his head. "Be good for your mama. And we'll play when I see you later."

Victoria held her breath as he turned away from Johnny and towards her. She thought he would kiss her. She anticipated the taste of coffee. He touched her face, pushing back that one stubborn strand of hair that she always managed to miss. His hand lingered, and she leaned into it, closing her eyes. That's when she felt his lips, soft and wet against her forehead. And then she felt two more, first on one cheek and then the other, completing the trinity of kisses she had given him last night on the stairs.

He rested his forehead against hers for a minute, absorbing enough of the moment to last him until the next time. "Thank you," he finally exhaled and then stepped away from them quickly, heading for the door without looking back.

He walked out of the house upright and confident, and as the door clicked behind him, Victoria hugged Johnny tighter, grateful and envious that he was too young to understand what had just happened.

* * *

><p>After hearing about the death of Katherine Chancellor on the news, Hannah showed up earlier than she was scheduled to, figuring her services might be extra needed today. Victoria was grateful and gladly handed Johnny off for her to clean while she tackled the mess left from breakfast. When both were spotless and kisses given as Johnny and Hannah headed to the park, Victoria rushed up the stairs. Her mother was expecting her, and she still had to shower and change and make herself presentable. Then there were the million other things she didn't even have time to remember to do.<p>

But all of that left her as soon as she bounded through the bedroom door, unexpectedly confronted by an unmade bed. It was just the same as when she left it this morning, minus Billy. The comforter, discarded hours ago, still barely clung to the foot of the bed, and the pillows still held the indentations of their heads. She hadn't wanted to leave him. But morning had come too soon, as had the first babbles that made their way through the baby monitor, the one and only thing that could have dragged her away from the warmth and safety of his arms.

Victoria took a deep cleansing breath and realized that this was the first minute she'd had to herself since last night, since before he stumbled through the front door in need. And only now was she aware of the ache in the pit of her stomach, an ache that hadn't resulted from laughing at Johnny. It was grief and loss. For Katherine. For Billy. For them. She regretted not telling Billy that he wasn't alone, that death made everyone a coward, because all she wanted to do was crawl into that unmade bed in front of her and lay her head where his had been for the rest of the day. But she couldn't. She had responsibilities. People were counting on her to be strong.

His clothes were still in the floor, and she picked them up as she had done so many times in their marriage. But this time she gathered them lovingly in her arms, hugging them against her chest, letting the scent of him comfort her. She had to get moving. Her mother would be getting worried soon. But as she headed to the closet, prepared to deposit his clothes in the hamper, something crinkled within the wad of fabric.

It was a piece of paper, yellow and wrinkled as if it had been wadded up but then smoothed out and folded carefully to fit in a back pocket. She was aware that she was invading his privacy, but she unfolded her find anyway and read the bold, black words out loud.

"Genoa City Gamblers Anonymous. Friends and Family Night. Friday, August 23. Seven o'clock p.m. Everyone is invited."

Victoria folded the yellow paper back just as she had found it and held it close to her chest, remembering the promise he had made her. This was proof of his promise proof that he was getting the help he needed, winning her back the right way. She hoped he knew how much she was counting on him to keep that promise. She needed him to keep that promise. That was the only thing that morning had made clearer.


	4. Chapter 4

Healing Hands

Chapter 4

Victoria bent her knees just enough and then steadied herself as Johnny's chubby little hand reached out and circled the doorbell. It took all of her strength to hold him as he leaned his body away from her and once he'd finally made contact, she quickly shifted him to her other hip while they waited. He was grinning that wide, goofy grin of his father's, unmistakably proud of his accomplishment but also aware of where they were. He knew who lived in the big white house just like he knew what happened after pressing the button by the door. And while she was relieved his good mood had lasted through his nap, part of her still questioned whether bringing him with her was a good idea, whether the mourning would be too much for him, or he would be too much for the mourners.

But she had promised. She had promised Billy they would come, and truthfully, after last night, after this morning, after all that had happened in the last few months, she was no longer confident in her judgment when it came to questions of right or wrong, should or shouldn't. Today was about Katherine anyway, that was what she kept telling herself, though she couldn't deny that Billy and the desire to see him again were just as much on her mind. And for that reason alone, she needed Johnny with her as a buffer, right or wrong.

"Oh, Victoria!" The sound of Esther's voice startled her almost as much as the sight of the woman who nearly always appeared on the other side of this particular door. She wasn't wearing her uniform, and her eyes were tinged with redness, two early signs that today was not a regular day at the Chancellor mansion. If Katherine's death hadn't seemed real yet, it certainly did now.

"Hi, Esther," she smiled sympathetically. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you." Esther sniffled and wiped her nose with a tissue so crumpled it seemed part of her hand before ushering them inside. "It's just so surreal. To think we'll never see Mrs. C. again."

"Johnny and I—we just wanted to come pay our respects. If it's not a bad time."

"No, of course not. Everyone's in the living room." Though not in uniform, she still performed her duties, freeing Victoria of her purse and the diaper bag, and before excusing herself to put them away, she turned to Johnny and smiled. "And I know a certain little girl who's going to be very happy to see you."

From the living room came voices, lots of voices, but the deep, animated rasp of her mother-in law rose above them all. Venturing closer, slowly to prevent the clicking of her heels against the floor, Victoria saw that 'everyone' included a lot more people than she had expected. The usual suspects, the ones who lived in the house, were unsurprisingly there, but so were Michael and Lauren, Devon and most of the Winters clan, Jack, Kevin, others whose faces were familiar though their names were forgotten. Her mother was there too, perched properly on the edge of the sofa, displaying zero signs that only a couple of hours earlier she had practically shooed Victoria off the ranch, saying she would be damned if Jill had all the say in planning Katherine's memorial. And while Victoria had appreciated that her mother was functioning in her grief rather than drowning, she had felt robbed of the comfort and guidance she had selfishly wanted from her.

She saw all of these people briefly, her eyes landing on them only in passing as she searched the room for the one face she couldn't see. But not because he wasn't there. Billy was across the room, sitting in a chair on the very edge of the crowd, his upper body folded over his lower half, his elbows resting on his knees. His head was bent as if in prayer while he twirled his wedding ring around and around his finger. He was tense, gripped with the uneasiness of death, and with every word his mother spoke, he grew tenser. Jill had the floor, standing tall amidst the group, dazzling the room with a story about one her many epic battles with Katherine. Like Victoria, almost everyone in the room had heard it before, if not from one of the participants then through the chain of gossip that connected them all, and as Jill spoke, they interjected with forgotten details and friendly jabs at the storyteller, all simply trying to fill the emptiness with the spirit of the woman whose presence no longer could.

Johnny saw Billy only seconds after Victoria, and he kicked his feet and grunted in excitement, urging his mother forward. Not wanting to interrupt, she calmed him with whispered promises of 'soon' before anyone discovered them, anyone except for one, the one all the way across the room who, judging by the smile on his face, had been waiting for them like Christmas morning. Victoria smiled back, though they both realized instantly he was trapped, too many obstacles and people to excuse himself through without drawing unwanted attention to themselves. She was content to wait, but Billy was not. As soon as Jill's story reached a lull, he bolted from his chair and instantly transformed into Billy Abbott, charmer of all people.

"Okay, Mom," he boomed, "I think you've tortured these people long enough."

Jill feigned offense at his declaration, and the familiar faces laughed much-needed laughs at the mother-son show. His plan worked, though. The crowd dispersed, forming smaller groups that Billy easily navigated his way through.

"Hey," he smiled, taking the steps that led to the foyer in a single leap. He took Johnny from her instantly, and the loss of him magnified the ache in her muscles. "You guys made it."

"I said we would."

Her response came out more defensive than she had meant, but it was the way he was looking at her as she smoothed her dress down that made her nervous, nervous that somehow, just by looking at her, he would know all her secrets. Like how long she had stood in their closet before settling on the purple sleeveless dress. Or worse, that she had impulsively left the bed unmade, finding comfort in the prospect of coming home to it. She felt guilty as soon as the words left her mouth, but before she could assuage her guilt or erase the confusion on his face, she saw Jill barreling her way towards them.

"I thought I spotted my grandson." Her mother-in-law was all smiles, hugging first Johnny from his perch in his father's arms and then Victoria. The joy on her face alone was confirmation that bringing him had been a good idea. "I'm so glad you came."

"I'm sorry for your loss. I know how much Katherine meant to you."

"Katherine," Jill laughed, though there was a hint of sadness in it. "Katherine meant a great deal to all of us."

Jill kept smiling after her own laughter faded, after the expectation that her son and daughter-in-law would join her faded with it. The two of them remained silent, unusually so, their eyes shifty, landing only on Johnny or the floor for safety, a nearly tangible tension between them. Taking notice, Jill stood up straighter and studied them hard until their squirming was too much for even her to take and then leaned conspiratorially towards her grandson. "I heard a rumor that there are oatmeal cookies in the dining room. What do you say we go investigate?"

At the word 'cookie' Johnny reached for her, unconcerned and unapologetic for abandoning his parents, for leaving them standing in the foyer like a couple of preteens at a first dance, three feet and a thousand miles of uncertainty between them.

"So, your mom seems to be doing okay." Victoria broke the ice. It felt like her responsibility, and Billy quickly accepted the best non-apology she could offer with a smile.

"Yeah, well…she loves being the center of attention. So there's that. She's keeping busy. Arguing with Nikki about flower arrangements and-and other stuff," he shrugged.

"How's that going? The planning?"

He cleared his throat and rubbed at the back of his neck, tell-tale signs he was uncomfortable with the topic of conversation. But he continued anyway. "Good. I guess. It's not for a couple of weeks. They wanna…they wanna give everybody time to get here. It's, um, supposed to be more of a celebration of her life than a, uh, a you know. That's what Kath- that's what she wanted."

By the time he finished, the tips of his ears were tinged red, his voice was shaky, and Victoria had a near uncontrollable urge to hug him. But instead, she eliminated half the distance between them and looked him steadily in his eyes. "You're doing fine, Billy."

He leaned in even closer to her, close enough to smell her shampoo. "I'm faking it," he whispered with an animated smile. "That and I just keep reminding myself that other people are missing her more."

For a minute she assumed he was referring to his mother, or maybe even hers, but his eyes drifted away from her, and she followed them into the living room until his comment made perfect sense. Murphy was sitting by the fireplace, separate from the rest of the crowd, like the calm, stoic eye of a hurricane. He was staring straight ahead, but Victoria imagined he saw nothing, that he was simply caught between two worlds, the one where his body still resided and the one where his heart now lived.

"I can't even imagine what he's—," Billy started in a soft, shaky voice and then stopped cold, his headed dropping in shame. She knew exactly where his mind went. To her. And Miami. And those scary days when even she didn't think she would make it out. His eyes were watery when he forced his head back up violently, and he wiped at them with the back of his hand, pretending they never happened.

"You hungry?" he asked suddenly, replacing the shame and sadness with nervousness again. "There's like a ton of food in there. People keep bringing stuff, and Esther was in the kitchen all morning. I had the restaurant send stuff over, too."

"No. I'm okay, Billy," she said pointedly, wanting him to catch the double meaning of her reply. He did, though he didn't acknowledge it, unwilling to let himself off the hook for wanted happened to her.

"I had'em bring that salad you like. The one with the fennel."

"Maybe later," she smiled.

He nodded and dug his hands into his pockets, the same pockets, the same way he had done this morning. "Okay, well, I'm gonna go find Esther, make sure she takes a plate to Murphy. Maybe save Johnny from my mom."

This time she nodded, granting him the permission he was requesting, and then watched him back away from her. But as soon as he was out of sight, she couldn't help but seek out Murphy again. There was a loneliness to him, a loneliness she understood too well, one she had experienced more than once. Sometimes, like with Billy, you lucked out and they came back. But other times, the person you loved was gone for good, leaving half a person with a gaping hole where the other used to be. She remembered that feeling, that excruciating pain and the waiting, waiting for the sizable wound to heal, which only made you a scarred whole person again when all you wanted was to still be a half. And even then, for a long time after, you still ached with the phantom pain of a lost limb.

"Murphy?" He looked up and smiled when she touched his shoulder. He started to rise from his chair, but Victoria motioned for him to stay put and took the one opposite him.

"I won't ask how you're doing," she said after a few seconds of silence. She wouldn't tell him she was sorry for his loss either. She had already used that phrase twice, and the triteness of it made her skin crawl.

"Oh, everybody's pretty worried about me, huh?" He smiled again, and she saw that he wasn't as far away as she had thought. She wondered if having experienced this loss before made it easier for him to cope. It never had for her. "I'm okay. We had a good life together. It was short, not quite five years. But it was good. A good life."

Five years. She and Billy hadn't even had that long together, but the impact of him in her life was already insurmountable. And now, if things didn't work out between, if she couldn't forgive him, they would never any more time. Just the thought of that potential loss left a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach and an ache in her chest.

"We weren't naïve about it," the older man continued, a sad grin on his worn face. "Couldn't afford to be at our age. But still…you always think you'll have more time."

His eyes had grown misty, and with blurry, tear-filled eyes of her own, Victoria scooted to the edge of her seat and placed her hand on top of his. She couldn't speak, and the only thing of worth she could offer was understanding. He saw that finally, that she understood, after studying her face and he squeezed her hand back in acknowledgement and gratitude.

"She'd love this, though," he said, looking around the room, his gruff voice shaky with emotion. "All these people here for her, talking, having a good time. Coming together," he added and looked at her deliberately.

"Yeah," Victoria agreed softly, warily. "She would."

"You know Katherine was pretty upset when she heard about you and Billy, that you were having some problems. She'd be happy to see you two here together."

Victoria exhaled and lowered her head, retracting her hand from Murphy's. "We're not. We're not back together."

This time it was Murphy who leaned forward and placed his hand on top of hers. "You will be," he assured her. She glanced at him without raising her head, questioning his wisdom. "With Katherine up there bossing God around? It's just a matter of time."

Tears she had been holding back for hours threatened to escape, and she felt ashamed, ashamed that he was now the one comforting her. She bit her lip and halted the forward march of her sadness, forcing herself back into propriety. But Murphy wasn't finished, nor was he slighted by her show of emotion.

"It isn't easy to love such a…a complicated person. Oh, Katherine and I, boy did we have our differences. Her dealings with Tucker, mostly. But there isn't one of those bad days I would trade, nothing I couldn't forgive her for just to see her walk down those stairs again. See when you get to be as old as me, Victoria, you learn that in life there's never enough time, and there's enough forgiveness."

She had never been particularly close to Murphy. He was the man Katherine had found late in life, the one who fished and made her godmother happy. But in that moment, she had never felt such a connection to another human being. They had a lot in common. They had both fallen in love with people who shone like flare guns in their lives, waking them up from monotony, turning them beautifully upside down. And a trailer. There was a trailer where they had each spent some of the best days of their lives. Only, the one he loved was gone, and hers was in the other room.

Victoria wiped the moisture from her face and stood, placing a soft kiss on the older man's cheek before leaving him to his daydreams of Katherine.

* * *

><p>"So, Victoria came."<p>

Billy halted construction on the obstacle course of crudités he had spread across a cleared corner of the dining room table and cast a glance over his shoulder where his mother hovered. Johnny, who was comfortably lounging in his lap, one hand occupied by the last bite of an oatmeal cookie, the other gripping two trucks procured from the diaper bag, looked too, but only briefly before turning his attention back to his father's creation.

"Don't sound so surprised. She loved Katherine. Of course she would come."

"And?"

"And what, Mom?" he said through gritted teeth. He had suspected this conversation was coming after her hasty exit from the foyer, and while he was trying to be extra supportive of her today, he resented her prying and her intrusion on his time with Johnny. "Victoria has manners. She knows the proper protocol. When someone dies, you pay your respects."

He placed a final celery stalk speed bump on the table and took one of the trucks from Johnny's hands on a test run, swerving around cherry tomatoes, jumping hedges of broccoli tops. He felt her move away from him and sighed, hopeful that she had taken the hint, but his relief was short-lived. She reappeared on the other side of him, claiming the chair next to him, a deceivingly nonchalant look on her face.

"You know Jack said you didn't sleep at his place last night."

"Jack needs to mind his own business," Billy said dismissively and then loudly revved the engine of the toy truck to drown her out.

"He was worried about you, Billy. Especially when I told him you didn't sleep here either." This time he simply ignored her, refusing to stoke the flames she was fanning and kept his focus on Johnny, who shoveled the last of the cookie into his mouth so he could give the course a try with his own truck. "I was worried, too. Until I saw you and Victoria just now."

"Don't," Billy warned over his son's mimicking noises. Johnny stopped though, confused by his father's change in tone, and Billy had to reassure him with a smile. "Just don't. Okay?" he said again, gentler this time.

"Don't what? Ask if you and Victoria spent the night together?" He didn't answer her, didn't even look at her, which was confirmation enough, and out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the edges of her mouth turn up and she touched her hand to her heart in the same way she used to do when he would give her a handmade card on Mother's Day. "Oh, honey. That makes me so happy. Especially today."

"Yeah, well, it shouldn't."

"Why would you say that?" she asked, desperate for him to answer her, desperate for him to take it back and tell her what she wanted to hear instead. "I saw the way she was looking at you, the way you were looking at her. It's a step, Billy, if nothing else it's a step in the right direction."

"No, it's not," he blurted. "It's not. Victoria made it clear. Last night wasn't a step."

"What was it then? A booty call?"

Her crassness should have offended him, shocked him at the very least, but he knew she only said it to rile him up. "I don't know," he shrugged, frustrated enough for both of them and more than a little uncomfortable having this conversation with his mother. "It was…a…a fluke. An aberration maybe. A moment, just one moment in time completely separated from every other moment."

She grew calmer, sympathetic, touching him on the arm that held Johnny securely to him. "But it could be a step. If you let it."

"No." He shook his head and abandoned the toy truck he had been playing with. "I don't want it to be. That can't be a step, Mom, because that was never our problem. The next step is on me, and in the meantime, I have to stop leaning on her."

"But she's strong. She can handle it."

"She shouldn't have to be strong. She didn't make me a screw-up."

"No, that was me, wasn't it?" And decades of regret and guilt glistened in her eyes and then transferred to him, continuing the vicious cycle.

"I didn't say that," he said quietly. Noticing the stop in action, all the attention turned away from him, Johnny grunted until Billy resumed playtime with less enthusiasm than before.

"But it's true. I made mistakes. But all I want for you…" She stopped to get her emotions under control and then reached out to lovingly touch her grandson's head and then her son's. "All I've ever wanted is for you to be happy, Billy. And Victoria, she makes you happy. So fight for her. Fight with everything you have."

"I'm trying," he said to her and then to Johnny, "Come on, buddy. Let's go see what your sister's doing."

* * *

><p>She'd made all the rounds, said all the right things to all the right people, fake smiled until her face hurt. And all it left her was exhausted and suddenly hungry, or at least that was the excuse she used to get away for a minute. Anyone else passing by the stairs wouldn't have seen him. Anyone else wouldn't have stopped. Then again, anyone else wouldn't have been looking for him at every turn since he disappeared into the dining room so long ago. He was sitting on the stairs, at the landing, nearly hidden from view. His head was against the wall, and he looked how she felt, spent, depleted, hollow. And suddenly, the stairs seemed like the most logical place to be, and after her talk with Murphy, the only place she wanted to be, the place where there was still time.<p>

Billy heard her before he saw her, the rhythmic clicking of her heels giving her away as she slowly climbed to where he was. He sat up straighter and smiled apologetically, embarrassed yet glad that she was the one who had discovered him there, hiding from the crowd and his grief.

"Hey," she said when she towered before him.

"Hey. I just-I needed a minute."

"Me too," she admitted and glanced at the empty spot next to him.

He nodded, and she lowered herself until together they blocked access to the upstairs. It was quiet up there and dark, the familiar voices from downstairs muffled into a comforting hum, like a blanket or a hug. Victoria shifted, turning her legs toward him, wrapping her arms around her waist. The back of her hand brushed against his forearm in the process, sending a jolt of electricity through them both. It wasn't awkward, though. Not anymore. It was just them on that staircase, no elephants, no expectations, just as they had always been. It was a feeling as right as rain.

"So….," Victoria said after a few minutes of silence had replenished her. "Where's our son?"

Billy took note of the lighthearted, curious expression on her face and squinted his eyes at her in confusion. "Our…son?"

"Yeah, you know. Short. Cute. Mohawk?"

"Oh, him!" Billy smiled, and it quickly spread to her face. "He's upstairs. DeeDee roped him into a tea party with Kevin and Michael of all people."

The hint of jealousy didn't go unnoticed, and Victoria nudged him playfully. "But not you?"

"Apparently, I'm not cool enough for a tea party."

"Hmph. I always suspected that." He nudged her back harder, and she lost her balance, falling against the railing with laughter, a sound he could listen to all day. But she suppressed it, pushing her lips tight together to keep their secret hideaway from being discovered, and when she recovered, she grew serious again. "Murphy said to thank you for the food, by the way."

"You rat me out?" He cocked his eye at her in an attempt to keep the playfulness in tact.

"Uh-uh," she nodded. "Esther."

"Figures. I should have known."

"Yep. You should have. It was a nice thing to do though," she said sincerely, aware it would make him uncomfortable. "Looking out for him like that."

"It was just food."

"It helps though," she whispered, and he stopped hiding and looked at her. "Doing something for someone else. You'd be surprised… just how much the smallest thing can help."

"No I wouldn't."

She barely heard him, his voice and his face so full of emotion. His stare was intense, like he could see right through her, like he asking her to see right through him. He was hurting, a wave of grief hitting when he least expected it, and all she wanted to do, all she imagined she'd ever want to do was take care of him. Cautiously, she let her fingers drift towards him, touching his arm, sliding them down past the rolled cuff of his shirt until she reached his fingertips. It was just a small thing she was offering, but he grabbed on, lacing his fingers tightly between hers like he was falling and she had caught him.

"I can't remember," he confessed quietly.

She didn't move or say anything, just held his hand and waited for him to continue.

"The last time I saw her. I can't remember it. I've been…wracking my brain all morning, but I just can't remember, Vic." He stopped and rubbed at his face with his free hand. "So many other things I can remember. Like right inside those doors? That's where I stood when I told them we were getting married. I remember that plain as day, how happy I was. How happy she and Murphy were. Everybody else saying we were making a mistake. That happened three years ago, but I can't even remember the last time I saw her. If I told her how much I loved her. If I said anything meaningful at all."

"It was here," Victoria said calmly, tears forming in her eyes. "We came over the day before she and Murphy left for their trip. We had lunch. Johnny tried a pickle for the first time. He kept making those faces because it was sour. She laughed so much at him. We all did. She told us about all the places they were going to see and before we left…she called you 'Bill' and you told her you loved her." Victoria stopped to catch her breath and swallowed hard between silent sobs. Billy wrapped her hand between his and looked at her with gratitude, for remembering when he couldn't. "She said she loved you, too. And then she said—"

"Take care of each other," he finished for her.

She closed her eyes at their failing, and a few tears were forced out. Billy touched her face, wiping away the moisture, caressing her just skin just as he had last night. Victoria leaned into his touch and opened her eyes, his gaze now on her lips. She moved closer to him, tilting her head, ready, wanting to feel his lips on hers again, but the thud of footsteps above them, chasing their desire down the stairs shook them back to reality.

"Oh, uh, sorry you guys." Kevin stood above them, awkward and blocked, a hot pink boa around his neck, a large floral hat on his head. "But, uh, somebody needs a diaper change."

"I thought you were potty-trained," Billy quipped without the usual pleasure from it.

"Very funny," Kevin said. "But Delia says Johnny can't stay if he stinks. And she means it. She really, really means it."

Kevin retreated back up the stairs, and Victoria started to pull herself up when Billy stopped her. "I'll do it," he said. "It's my turn. It's been my turn for a long time now."

His demeanor had changed. He was unreadable, which confused and worried her. But after he struggled to his feet and stood, towering over her, he smiled, diffusing her worry. "Hey, do me a favor? Don't leave without seeing me. There's, um, there's something I want to ask you. Something important. And I don't…just stay?"

She could tell it had taken a lot of courage for him to ask her that and that it would take even more to ask for the real favor. She nodded she would do as he asked, and as he passed by her, the only thing she could think of was the yellow paper, the flyer for the open G. A. meeting. It seemed the obvious answer to what he wanted to ask her. She hadn't been ready to support him before, her own fear and anger standing in her. But time was running out, and this time, the next time, he reached out to her, she wasn't so prepared to say 'no.'

* * *

><p>"Whatcha doing?"<p>

Victoria plopped down onto the sofa next to where her mother sat, folding her legs beneath her as she leaned into the familiar, comforting scent she had searched out. Nikki had a stack of books, photo albums, on the coffee table, and one was spread open on her lap. Her reading glasses clung to the end of her nose as she studied the contents.

"Oh, I'm just going through some old pictures. Looking for ones to use for the service. Although, I'm sure Jill will want different ones."

Nikki turned the page, and Victoria touched the photographs of her godmother one by one. In each of them, Katherine wore glamorous gowns and outrageous jewelry; it was the way Victoria would always remember her, larger than life, a flare gun of a human being. "She was beautiful," she murmured.

"Yes, she certainly was," Nikki smiled sadly. "And Lord knows we went through some times together. Marriages. Divorces. More marriages. More divorces. Addiction. Sobriety."

"And AA meetings?"

"Oh, yes, many, of those. Many, many of those," Nikki stressed.

Victoria sat up straight, crossing her legs properly. The moment, the opening, she had hoped for and orchestrated had come. "Did they help? The meetings? Did they help you stop drinking?"

It wasn't so much the question that caught Nikki off guard, but the curiosity in her daughter's voice. She had been so busy mourning Katherine today that she hadn't noticed that something was going on with Victoria. She saw it now, however. "This is about Billy, isn't it?"

"No," Victoria answered quickly and turned away. Around them, people continued to mingle, drinks and plates of food balanced in their hands. Murphy was still in the chair behind them, and just as she saw him, Billy walked into view and sat in the chair she had been in earlier. The two men quickly took up conversation, and Victoria looked back at her mother "Yes," she said truthfully.

"Are you two back together?" Victoria shook her head 'no,' and Nikki rescued her glasses from the bridge of her nose and folded them safely in her lap. "But something happened? And you're thinking about it?"

Again Victoria nodded her response, this time in the affirmative, and her mother smiled and touched her shoulder supportively. "Yes," she said. "The meetings, they helped. It was a place to go and not feel alone. I could talk about my triggers and how my drinking affected the people I love. But….the meetings, they weren't the only things I needed to get sober."

At Victoria's quizzical expression, Nikki smiled and turned in her seat so she could place a hand on either side of her daughter's face. "You, my angel. I needed you and your brother and you father. And Katherine. I needed the support of the people I love. Otherwise, it just wouldn't have seemed worth it."

"And Billy needs me, doesn't he?" she asked softly.

"Only if you're truly willing," her mother answered honestly. "It takes a lot to love an addict. He'll never be cured. So, you have to ask yourself if he's worth it. If the love you have is worth it. You weren't ready before. Are you ready now?"

"I don't-I don't know. I want to be. I do. And I think he's worth it." Victoria sighed loudly and ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. "Just do me a favor?" she asked her mother. "Don't say anything to Dad about this? Whatever I decide, it has to be up to me. Just me."

* * *

><p>Billy carried Johnny to the car for her. The little boy still clung to the two trucks from earlier, and his eyes were growing heavy with sleep. The sun had slipped out of sight, leaving the sky colorless, casting a dreamlike glow on every ordinary object. Once his son was secured in the car seat, Billy followed Victoria to the driver's side and opened the door for her.<p>

"Thanks again for coming," he said and leaned over the door that separated them. "And for letting me spend some time with Johnny."

"I meant it when I said you could see him whenever you wanted. You're his father." Billy smiled, and Victoria ducked inside the car to place her purse and Johnny's diaper on the passenger seat. When she emerged, he was still looking at her, just waiting for courage to find him. "Wasn't there, um, something you wanted to ask me?"

"Yeah," he said, and the nerves kicked in full force. Victoria braced herself and prayed for the strength to answer him. "See, um, DeeDee wants to do something for Katherine, a way to remember her, and your mom sort of mentioned that maybe she could do some of the artwork for the program. For the memorial, you know. But she's kinda anxious about it, and she's been missing you and all. And I know you're not doing the whole illustration thing anymore. But I thought maybe you could, you could help her with it."

It wasn't the request she had expected. It was nowhere near what she had expected, what she had begun to hope for, a ray of hope and possibility. She felt the wind knocked from her, a rug pulled from under her. For a moment she forgot how to breathe and stood in front of him, her mouth agape, no words coming out.

"You think it's a bad idea, don't you?" he asked, a hurt look on his face.

"No," she said abruptly when her bearings returned and faked a smile to hide her shock. "No, I think it's a wonderful idea, Billy. And I'd love to help her. I'd love to spend time with her."

He smiled and beat a happy rhythm on her car door. "Good. That's good. I was so worried you would think this was some scheme to get you to spend time with me. It's not, I promise. We don't even have to see each other for this. Not that I don't want to see you." He was rambling, incoherent, so he stopped himself and took a step back. In the light of day's end, her eyes sparkled a shade of blue he had never seen before. He wanted to dive into them and never come up for air. And he would, he promised himself that. Just not today.

"I don't want you to think I'm trying to weasel my way back into your life, Victoria. Because I heard you this morning. I know you're not ready. We're not ready yet," he corrected. "So you don't have to worry. No more showing up in the middle of the night, stumbling through the door like a drunk. Last night, it won't happen again. You have my word."

The disappointment surprised her, and she couldn't get in the car fast enough. She ripped all thoughts of that piece of yellow paper into shreds and clung to the soothing memory of what was waiting for her at home. Once Johnny was in bed, she would crawl into that unmade bed and forget today.

"No worries," she choked out and pulled her seatbelt tight across her chest. "Just, um, just let me know when Delia wants to get started. And tell her that I can't wait."

Billy nodded and smiled and then let the car door shut, sealing her away from him. As she pulled away, Victoria glanced behind her where Johnny's eyes were already closing. At the end of the driveway, she saw in front of her the last sliver of pink sun slip out of sight, and in the rearview mirror, Billy stood where she had left him, a blurry image, his head cast down in defeat, his blue shirt appearing mistakenly purple.


	5. Chapter 5

Healing Hands

Chapter 5

Victoria watched her stepdaughter with a mix of pride and amusement, fighting hard to suppress a smile at the little girl's intense concentration, at the way her forehead scrunched as she chose the next crayon from the sea of them covering the dining room table and then the way she adjusted her grip over and over again until she was holding it just as Victoria had shown her. But it was the way she held the tip of her little pink tongue firmly between her lips as she worked that had Victoria biting the inside of her cheek. Johnny had started doing the same thing recently, when stacking blocks dangerously high or scribbling with his own set of broken crayons, and she couldn't help but wonder if it was a genetic trait or simply a habit he had picked up from his big sister.

"That is looking so good," she said over Delia's shoulder, her pride winning out in the end, and the little girl flashed her a wide, crooked grinned before turning her full attention back to the colorful masterpiece in front of her.

It had been exactly a week since she had stood in the Chancellor driveway with Billy and agreed to this project. At the time, it had seemed like a minor undertaking in the grand scheme of things and even a bit of a disappointment for what it wasn't, but surprisingly, helping Delia had turned out to be a much-needed distraction since losing Katherine and, in a sense, Billy too. They had met everyday since then, usually at her house when Hannah took Johnny to a playdate or to the park, and at Delia's insistence that it not be a "baby drawing," Victoria had spent their first few sessions teaching her about color and shading and dimension, all the things she had learned during her time in Italy, but simplified to a child's level of understanding and ability. Delia soaked it all in, relished each new thing she learned, and her excitement made Victoria remember the fun in art, how you could lose yourself in creativity and emotion, letting the chaotic world fall away for a little while. For an hour at a time every day, she rediscovered the peace she'd found in Florence once upon a time, and though running away was no longer an option for her, art still was. It was a thing she could focus on while the rest of life twisted and turned in a kaleidoscope of hurt and memories, wants and responsibilities, those fragmented, repeating images, mostly of Billy, often dizzying her to the point of nausea.

Billy. She had seen him every day since then too, and so far, he had kept his promise and not once stumbled through the front door or shown up at midnight. He stopped by every morning, knocking just after breakfast, to see Johnny and then sometimes again after dinner to give him a bath and put him to bed. With their son, he was typical Billy, playful and energetic, joking and loving, but with her he was simply…cordial. Cordial was a heartbreaker, because for better or worse, in good times and in bad, cordial was never them.

On none of the visits did he stay more than an hour, checking his watch multiple times to make certain he wasn't overstaying his welcome. That's what she assumed anyway, but his concern over time also worried her, made her wonder where he needed to be, what he was doing, the same old suspicions that came with loving an addict. She never asked how he was though, never asked if he was going to his meetings or about that damn piece of yellow paper now tucked away in her purse. At the end of every visit, after he thanked her politely for letting him come, there was always a lingering moment between goodbye and the close of the door when she thought he might break and make a plea for their marriage or at least acknowledge their night together with a look or a smile. But it never happened. Not once, which hurt almost as much as any lie or any vice ever could.

"Do you really think it's good enough?" Delia asked suddenly, drawing Victoria out of her spinning thoughts.

"I do," she answered sincerely, taking note of the real concern and doubt in the little girl's question. "Everybody's gonna love it. I Promise. Especially Katherine." She reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind Delia's ear and smiled before picking up the piece of paper so she could admire the border of flowers that would soon decorate the program at the memorial. The flowers were drawn in reds and purples and golds, symbolic colors Victoria had told her, because they represented Katherine's jewelry collection that Delia so loved playing with. It really was impressive, and Victoria felt proud and honored to share this passion of hers with her stepdaughter.

"In fact," she added after close inspection, "I don't think it needs another thing. It's perfect just the way it is."

"No," Delia cried, "it's not finished!" She snatched the drawing out of Victoria's hands and placed it back on the table, but despite her outcry, didn't resume working on it.

"Well, you're the artist," Victoria said quietly, more than a little startled and confused by the sudden change in mood. She ducked her head and tried to make eye contact, but Delia continued to stare at her drawing, her fingers idly rolling a blue crayon along the table. "So, it's your call. But if there's something else…if something's on your mind, you know you can talk to me, right?"

"It's just…if it's finished…then I can't see you anymore."

Delia's face when she finally turned around rattled an old wound in Victoria's heart, but her confession wasn't surprising. She remembered divorce, remembered it well, and not just because of how Reed's life had been turned upside down when she and J.T. split. She had been close to Delia's age when her own parents divorced for the first time, and she remembered the confusion, the fear, the longing for normalcy, all those well-intentioned promises that things would be okay. And for Delia, given the situation with Kevin and Chloe too, those feelings and uncertainties were undoubtedly doubled.

"Who says you won't see me anymore? Huh? Are you trying to get rid of me?" Victoria narrowed her eyes playfully and pulled Delia to her, tickling her sides until she caved and giggled. "Because I was thinking that we could start a new project? Or…take an art class together? Or maybe next week we could even go to Chicago, to a real art museum. What do you say?"

Still breathless from laughing, Delia nodded enthusiastically in response. "Can Daddy come too?"

"Well, I think he probably has to work," Victoria said cautiously when in the near past she would have agreed without hesitation. "Besides, I thought this could be a girl's trip. Just you and me."

"You're still mad at him, aren't you?"

The question was innocent enough, no doubt pieced together through observations and behaviors and the simple black and white understanding of a child. And even though Victoria knew that hard questions like this one would surface sooner or later, she was completely unprepared to answer it. She sat with her mouth open for several seconds, just waiting for the right answer to come to her. But there was no right answer, and the best she could offer, the least she owed Delia, was the truth. All she had to do was figure out what the truth was because as each day passed, remembering and holding onto all the reasons she and Billy weren't together was becoming harder to do.

"Delia, I'm not-I'm not mad at your dad. Not really. It's just-it's complicated. And sometimes, even when two people love each other very much, they have to spend some time away from each other to figure out the complicated parts. Does that make sense?"

"Is it complicated because he's sick?" Delia's wrinkled forehead was a sure sign that her vague version of the truth had neither made sense nor satisfied the little girl's curiosity, so Victoria took a deep breath and prepared to talk specifics, remembering what being in the dark felt like, both as a child and as an adult, while also respecting the explanation she assumed Billy had given his daughter.

"Sick? Where did you hear that?"

"Daddy. Daddy said he's sick. Not like when I was sick. A different kind of sick. He doesn't have to get shots or take yucky medicine or stay at the hospital. He has to go to meetings and talk to people to get better. That kind of sick"

Talk of the hospital and medicine transported Victoria back in time to those days two years ago when she watched the little girl she had quickly loved as her own grow weaker and sicker by the day. She remembered the suffocating, terrifying sense of helplessness, of not being able to give her the life-saving treatment she needed or locate the father who could. She and Billy had been apart then too, and the feelings she felt now weren't all that different.

"You're right, DeeDee," she said and pulled her into her arms, squeezing her tight. "He is sick. And it is different than when you were sick. A lot different. But…it's the same in one way. See, I can't make him better. I want to, just like I wanted to make you better when you were sick. But I couldn't. Because I'm not a doctor. And I'm not who your dad needs to get better either."

Delia smiled unexpectedly, a wise, knowing smile well beyond her years but not her unfair experiences. "But you did help me, Victoria. You stayed with me in the hospital and read me stories and held my hand when I was scared. What if Daddy's scared? Who's gonna hold his hand?"

Victoria's eyes burned with the threat of tears as the kaleidoscope twisted again, shifting new images into focus, images that were clearer without the haze of her own fear. She saw Billy standing in front of her weeks ago admitting he was in trouble, asking her to help him. She saw the yellow paper that haunted her and suddenly understood why he hadn't mentioned it. She had been angry and scared and rightfully so after what she had been through, but now, little by little, the fragments dissolved into one clear truth: Billy was sick and needed help.

Addiction was an illness; she knew that better than anyone. She knew the struggles her own mother faced. Katherine too. She remembered what her mother said days ago about the meetings helping, but also needing the support of your friends and family. That was true of any disease, and she knew that if it were any other disease, she would have handled it differently. She would have learned all she could about it right away, arming herself with knowledge, and then she would have done what her father always did when someone he loved was sick, find the best healers, the best options for recovery, throw her money and name around until he was cured. And she would have held his hand. And she would have done it all without waiting for him to ask.

"You're a smart girl. You know that?" Victoria smiled and blinked back the tears before placing a soft, grateful kiss on the top of her head. "Don't worry about your dad, okay? He's gonna have everything he needs to get better. I promise."

The how of keeping that promise wasn't clear yet, but Victoria vowed that she would keep it no matter the cost, and not just for Delia. And not just for Johnny or for her own selfish reasons. She would keep it for Billy, because he was worth it and because no one should have to go through an illness alone.

* * *

><p>It was always immediate, the itchiness, the discomfort, the closing in of his throat so that breathing was a chore. He was becoming a regular now, his third meeting this week alone, but still, every time he stood outside the room that hosted Girl Scout troops and addicts alike, Billy felt as though he were standing on a rocky precipice, staring at the dark, rough waters of his future below. And though his instinct was always, always to run, so far, he had forced himself over the threshold each time, reminding himself that these meetings, they were supposed to get him his life back.<p>

The bland, nondescript room looked different when he forced himself inside tonight. The walls the color of flesh were still bathed in fluorescent light, but the cold metal chairs that scraped and squeaked across the tile floor weren't arranged in the usual intimate, intimidating circle. There were more of them, and instead of a circle, they were lined up like soldiers, all facing the podium that had always been in the front of the room, but that his group had never made use of. Until tonight, it seemed. Billy was early, a habit he was getting used to, but already there were more people than usual too, some pouring stale coffee from the pot in the corner of the room, others gathered into small enclaves of easy conversation, a few eyeing the door contemplating escape. Several he recognized from previous meetings, while others, who were strangers to him seemed oddly comfortable with the ones he recognized. There was a familiarity between them, a closeness. Almost like family.

It hit him then, like a wave. Today was Friday, the 22nd. This wasn't a normal Gamblers Anonymous meeting. It was an open meeting, inclusive to friends and family members of addicts, the one that just over a week ago he had planned to invite Victoria to as a brave, new alternative to his customary method of winning her back. Then Katherine died, spinning the world and him in a different direction, and he'd folded that plan into the back of his mind, simply forgetting until now. Billy glanced at his watch and sighed, shaking his head, knowing it was far too late to call her now. Not that he would expect her to come after the past week. He'd been cold and distant with her, undoing any of the thawing out of their relationship. But he'd had to. It was the only way he could honor the vow he'd made to stop leaning on her while he got himself together, the only way he could keep thoughts of silk and moonlit skin from derailing him and blowing any chanced that remained for them. Ironically, the only thing he had really learned in the last seven days was that living without Victoria was a harder feat than kicking a gambling addiction.

The temptation to sneak out before the meeting started was stronger than usual given that he would probably be the only one without a support system present, admittedly of his own doing. But he was already there and he was determined and committed to getting better, so he stayed. Most of the chairs were empty, and Billy took his pick of one in the front row, choosing to put as many reminders that he was all alone in back of him and out of sight. Soon the chairs around him filled up, creaking and moaning as their new occupants made themselves as comfortable as a metal chair and deep-seeded insecurities allowed. His own jitteriness became worse as the seconds to the start of the meeting ticked away, and at the sound of the door clicking closed, Billy leaned forward against his knees and lowered his head, taking deep, calming breaths as the hum of the room quieted little by little and the door clicked open and closed one last time, announcing the arrival of a latecomer.

No one turned around when she slipped through the door a few minutes after seven, and for that Victoria was grateful. She found a lone seat in the back row and quickly scanned the crowd for signs of Billy as an older man approached the podium and led the group in the reciting of the serenity prayer. She didn't see him, which wasn't completely surprising, though she supposed he could have asked Jack or his mom or anyone else to go with him. But she was okay with him not being there, glad even, because she was tense enough and had come for knowledge and information, the first step towards keeping the promise she had made to Delia. Because before she could help him, she needed to know what she was dealing with.

At the conclusion of the prayer, the man who welcomed everyone and introduced himself as Dan read a series of twenty questions and asked for a show of hands after each one that was true. They were about gambling, questions like, "Have you ever lost time gambling," "Have you ever gambled to escape worry, trouble, boredom or loneliness," "Has gambling ever made you careless with the welfare of yourself or your family," "Have you ever considered self-destruction or suicide as a result of your gambling?" Victoria was numbed by the number of hands raised in response to the last question, at all of them really. These were Billy's symptoms, she realized; this was his disease.

One by one, others replaced Dan at the podium and told their stories, stories that in many ways were all the same. These people who could have easily been her friends or neighbors or relatives spoke of impulses and compulsion, momentary highs and lifetimes of regret. They listed the things their disease had cost them, things like cars and homes, spouses and children, their jobs, their dignity. But they also talked about recovery, offering hope and advice, sharing the ways they had overcome addiction and maintained it day after day. And they talked lovingly about their families, reiterating what her own mother had said, that having the love and support of people you loved, people who loved you was a vital part of dealing with the disease. The truth in that was evident when each speaker relinquished the spot at the podium only to be welcomed back to their seat with a hug, a kiss on the cheek, or a squeeze of the hand.

Victoria wiped at her eyes, removing the moisture that had gathered there story after story. Discreetly, she searched her purse for a tissue and looked back up just in time to see the next speaker bolt from his chair like a rocket blasting into space, moved certainly by impulse rather than a plan. She froze and her breathing stopped cold when she saw it was Billy. He had been there all along, hidden out of sight. Nerves and fear fluttered in the pit of her stomach, fear of being seen by him and fear for him as he stood anxiously before the crowd. Sliding lower in her chair, she hugged her purse tight to her chest and prayed for invisibility.

"Hi. I, um, my name is Billy," he said quickly to no one, his eyes glued to the slanted top of the podium.

"Hi, Billy," the crowd chimed in unison just as they had done for every speaker before him.

"And I, um, I have a um…I'm an…" He faltered. Reality set in, and the adrenaline that had driven him to speak at group for the very first time was gone. He couldn't say it. He couldn't share with a roomful of strangers that part of himself that shamed him, made him feel broken, like less of a man. The silence that ensued was painful, to him and to the rest of the crowd, he was certain. Billy rubbed the palms of his hands against the edges of the wood, hoping to conjure a wish or courage, anything to save him from this hell. As his hands moved, the fluorescent lights reflected off the metal of his wedding ring. He twisted it around his finger with his thumb until the black ring of his tattoo peeked out from beneath it.

"My wife…." The words, those two simple words that encompassed a lifetime of experiences and emotions, slipped from his lips naturally, easily, catching him off guard. It was still too late to call her, and too many hurts still stood between them, but that didn't keep him from wanting her, from wishing that somehow she could be there. He needed her. As much as he had tried not to, he needed her so damn much.

Billy let his eyelids close for just a second so he could see her face. He pictured her laughing and carefree, her blue eyes dancing in Jamaican sun. It strengthened him, the sight of her, the thought of her, and a calmness entered him, strong enough to raise his head and face the crowd. But when he opened his eyes, he still saw her, her blue eyes shimmering from the back row of an army of chairs. He blinked once and then again, unconvinced she was real. But she was, somehow she was there hugging her purse to her chest like a lifejacket, looking as scared as he felt. It dawned on him then that he was in one of those rare moments in life where he was acutely aware of his power to change the course of events. He could sink or swim, run or stand tall on that precipice that wasn't so scary anymore because he wasn't alone and he wasn't looking at the place to fall. Instead, he saw only what was before him and the person always standing beside him.

"My wife," he said again, with reverence and a quivering lip, "she says that I, um, I have a way with words. And she would know. I've talked my way back into our marriage more than once. I'm not proud of that."

His eyes stayed on hers until he felt brave enough to look around at the faces that bore a mix of relief that he had found his voice and simple acceptance of anything he had to say. It was humbling, and Billy cleared his throat before continuing. "It's true," though he smiled half-heartedly. "I'm cocky and loud, the life of the party. I can talk my way out of just about any situation. But this…this is different. This is scary."

"I never thought I belonged here, never thought I had a problem. I started gambling a long time ago. It was nothing. A few hands of poker, just a good time. Sometimes I won. Sometimes I didn't win so much. I mean, I never lost my house or anything. Just a trust fund." No one laughed at his attempt at humor, but then he hadn't expected them to. He was dancing around the hard stuff. "A trust fund," he repeated, his jaw tight. "And my wife."

His eyes closed again, and this time he saw her limp, lifeless body lying in that dark room in Miami. His heart throbbed with the pain of what was and the fear of what almost was. "My wife was almost killed because of a hand of poker. Killed." The word shot through the room like a bullet, and Billy looked to Victoria again full of guilt and apologies for bringing it up again. She was crying, but her eyes still held love, for him.

"And I still went back for more," he confessed quietly, a mix of anger and raw pain fueling him. "How stupid is that, huh? The woman I love more than anything almost died, and I still went back for more. But see, that's how I knew. The second she looked at me and asked me how, how could I gamble knowing the nightmare she had been through, what it had almost cost us I knew. I knew I was…that I'm an addict. My name is Billy, and I have a gambling addiction."

He could look nowhere but directly into Victoria's eyes as he made his confession. The tears fell faster than she could wipe them away. Around him, he heard sniffles from others, and felt a hot tear roll down his own cheek. It was not the defining moment he had dreamt of as a child, but it was his, and he risen to the occasion. Whatever happened next, he was ready to face it, a little bit stronger, a little but more powerful.

"We lost someone close to us last week," he said to the crowd of strangers as he wiped away the single tear. "She was like a grandmother to me. Actually, that's not true. She was more than a grandmother to me. We were a lot alike. She was loud and bossy and obnoxious at times. She was an addict, too. Alcohol. And her death, it hit me hard. It's the sort of thing that could have triggered a relapse. But I haven't gambled in weeks. Haven't even thought about it. But I know that doesn't make me cured. I know that now. This is forever."

"I've been following the steps. Keeping busy, taking up new hobbies. Like fishing," he laughed as he recalled the day he spent went Murphy at the lake "And someone told me that helping others can help you, so I've been doing that too. Even made an appointment with a therapist."

He saw the shock on Victoria's face at the word 'therapist.' It wasn't anything he ever thought he would do, and he wasn't looking forward to it. But he wanted her to know, wanted her to be certain, that there wasn't anything he wasn't prepared to do to get better. He wanted to be the man she deserved and a father that all of his kids could be proud to emulate.

"I'm sure you're all ready for me to shut up," he quipped and the crowd laughed gently this time, "but I want to say one more thing, something I learned this past week. I've used gambling to deal with the hard parts of life, and yeah, it makes you feel good for a while. But it's got nothing on love. See, gambling makes you feel invincible for a minute, just one minute out of a lifetime. But love, real, honest, true love, that makes you immortal. And the luckiest son of a bitch alive."

Billy returned to his seat unburdened and unwelcomed with a hug or a kiss or a squeeze of the hand, but he didn't feel alone. The meeting ended without either of them knowing how. There was a final prayer and a thank you and an unceremonious clearing of the room, all but two metal chairs, one in the front row, the other in the back. And when all that remained was them and a podium and flesh-colored walls, Victoria eased out of her chair, twisting and turning her body through the now crooked rows until she reached Billy. Without a word, without a look, she sat and held his hand.

* * *

><p>They had driven home separately, arriving at the same time, but she left him again at the bottom of the stairs, rising noiselessly upwards to check on Johnny and relieve Hannah for the night. Neither had suggested they come here; it had simply been understood that they would, that they needed to talk.<p>

Billy made coffee while he waited for her return and carried two steaming mugs into the living room, placing one on the table for her, indulging in a long, first sip from the other. This house with its blue walls and new furniture was so different from when they first moved in, and yet it felt exactly the same. That day, they had been drawn to it because of a fantasy, but Father Knows Best quickly proved unrealistic, not that they ever really believed it would be so easy. As he drank his coffee, he remembered the night they decided to redecorate, not long after Miami, not long after making love, lying in bed talking about the future. They needed a fresh start, Victoria had whispered in his ear, no fairy tales, no television shows, just real beautiful life. He hadn't really understood it then, but he did now.

Oddly enough, this, sitting here waiting for her, after that meeting, felt like a new step in their relationship. Whether for better or for worse, whether a fresh start or an eraser, things had undeniably changed between them. He felt it, and as she descended the stairs, he saw on her face and in her body language that she felt it too.

"I made coffee," he said, standing as she approached and then sat on the sat on the edge of the couch. "Hope that's okay. I always need the caffeine after…"

She smiled and accepted the steaming mug, inhaling the scent, connecting the aroma to that night she when had kissed him and tasted coffee. He had been to a meeting then, too. They were silent for a few minutes, sipping and waiting, unsure of where to start.

"How did you know?" he finally asked. "About the meeting?"

His voice was low and clam, as warm as the mug she cradled in her hands. "I found a flyer," she murmured and then blushed. "The morning after we…after you spent the night."

He said nothing, but nodded as the dots were connected by a piece of clothing, a pocket where he had shoved a piece of yellow paper, denim that had been pushed to the floor in a hurry, that had remained there and been forgotten hours later.

"Are you upset?" Victoria asked in a tone that matched his own, and at his confusion, she clarified. "That I came to the meeting?"

"No." Confusion turned to disbelief, and then his jaw tightened with emotion. "When I saw you…Vick, when I saw you,…"

"I should have been there all along," she cried when he couldn't finish. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"No," he said sternly, moving closer to her, taking her face in his hands. He forced her to look at him. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"Yes, I do, Billy. I refused you. You asked me for help, and I refused you."

"I almost cost you your life. You owed me nothing."

"How can you say that?" she whispered, "You're sick, and I'm your wife."

"And I'm your husband," he whispered back, both an affirmation and an apology.

Husband and wife, the two words hung in the air like a secret that only two could see and understand fully. It was a promise and a decision, a string of events that connected "I now pronounce you" to the moment they were stuck in now. Somehow, through mistakes and and missteps and hormones and life, they had come to this place so far from where they started. Between them passed acknowledgement and acceptance of the other's guilt and failings, whether they agreed or not, leaving only what happened next to be determined.

"I want to help you get better," she said, her voice still a whisper. "If you still want my help."

"Thank you," he nodded, still holding her face in his hands, wisps of silky hair falling across the back of his hands. There was still one question he had to ask, though he feared the answer. "What about us? What does this mean for us?"

She swallowed, and her gaze drifted down to his lips. She knew what he was asking and feared the pounding of her heart would give her away before she could answer.

"I want us." He tasted like coffee when she kissed him. Her lips lingered softly on his until he responded, taking control, pulling her into his mouth, touching her, feeling her. The desire was strong, too strong, and she pulled away breathless, giving her head the victory. ""I want us," she repeated and stroked his confused face. "I do. But let's take it slow? You need to heal. And I need to…I need to work on my trust issues. Let's get through the memorial, before we make any decisions?"

Billy slid his hands down her face, down her shoulders and arms to her hands. She feared he was disappointed, too disappointed to be open to her suggestion. She knew it seemed unfair and hesitant, but they were too important to take lightly, and Katherine's death too big. And she was scared, admittedly cautious with her heart.

"Slow," he echoed quietly and turned her hand over with his. The tips of his fingers slid like molasses across her palm, tickling their way up to her slender wrist and back down to the tips of her fingers. She sucked in a quick breath of air as a shiver coursed through her body. He looked up at her then, a mischievous smile on his face. "We can do slow. It'll be something new."

He broke contact with her then, purposefully making her long for his touch, and stood. She followed suit and together, they walked to the door.

"I should get going," he smiled and rubbed at the back of his head. "Thank you...for coming to the meeting. It meant a lot."

"You're welcome." She couldn't hide the smile that crept across her face. She felt like a teenager standing at the door after a first date, wondering if he would kiss her again. Reading her mind, he leaned close, inhaling the scent of her. She opened her mouth, ready to forfeit, to throw her request out the door and invite him upstairs.

"Slow," he said again and traced and her lips at a tantalizing speed. "Slow."

He walked away with a smile on his face, letting the door close gently behind him. But he would be back, over and over again. He had accepted slow, but what she couldn't have known was that he was prepared to wait forever.


	6. Chapter 6

Healing Hands

Chapter 6

Victoria trudged downstairs, her feet moving solely on memory and determination. The sofa was her goal, and as she shuffled there, she gathered an armload of strewn monster trucks and furry noisemakers that she dumped on the coffee table before surrendering to the cool, welcoming cushions. She was exhausted, inexplicably so for 7 o'clock on a Friday night. That is until she factored in the stress of the last two weeks that was no doubt catching up with her or the teething baby finally sleeping upstairs. It was an earlier bedtime than usual for Johnny, but given his crankiness from before, she was content with letting him sleep when he could.

There were the late nights to consider, too. A slow smile crept across Victoria's face, and she snuggled deeper into the couch as images of the last seven days tiptoed across her memory. A lot had changed in the week since the Gamblers Anonymous meeting, good changes mostly, and odd as it was, the more things changed, the more life, their life, seemed to become...familiar. Billy kept up his schedule when it came to Johnny, showing up every morning after breakfast to play and then again some nights for bath and bedtime, but since the meeting, he had added a third visit to his schedule, one that had nothing to do with Johnny. That was made clear the first night when just after nine, only an hour after his last visit, he had knocked tenderly on their door and greeted her with two cups of coffee balanced in the palm of one hand and a shy, boyish look that transformed into shy, boyish hope when she opened the door wider and accepted one of the still steaming cups. It had been a little awkward that first night, neither knowing what came next, how to proceed with their relationship. So they had simply talked, for hours, each claiming one end of the sofa, leaving enough space between them to ensure things would go as slowly as Victoria requested. By the very next night, it had already become a tradition: 9 p.m., Billy brought the first round of coffee, Victoria provided the refills, and they talked.

They talked about everything and sometimes nothing. They filled each other in on what they had missed in the other's life. She talked about Johnny and Reed, her mother, the parts of work that didn't involve Victor. If he had been to a meeting, they would talk about that, or his looming first therapy session and the possibility of her joining him for one at some point. He told her how he'd taken up new hobbies to cope with both his addiction and missing her, odd unBilly-like hobbies like fishing with Murphy, running with Jack, and even spending time with his mom. He rarely talked about work, though, and when she asked about it, whether or not his late visits were good for the restaurant, he answered her with enough hesitation to make her worry, but enough sincerity to let her know that "work is fine" was an honest answer.

By the third night, unable to avoid them any longer, Billy and Victoria tackled the heavy stuff, the make it or break it stuff. Honesty, they agreed with a weighted stare, had been their downfall, and therefore, could be the only way they righted themselves. So she told him about Miami and the nightmares that still strangled her from sleep some nights. He told her about his gambling in detail, how it started this time, how he hid it from her, about the shame he felt for succumbing again. He told her about Delia being sick, how scared he and Chloe both had been, and that, though he understood, he had been hurt by her absence throughout the ordeal. And after a long pause and more than a little hesitation, he confessed that in a moment of self-loathing, Chloe had kissed him, briefly on the lips, a kiss he neither wanted nor returned, but a kiss nonetheless. It surprised him when she didn't freak out right away or tell him to leave, until with the sting of hurt still in her eyes, she confessed her own secret, that in a moment of desperate fear, she had blackmailed Chelsea to keep Chloe away from him. Those bits of honesty had been the hardest for both to swallow, and so they had sat in silence for a long while, stripped before each other of their secrets and their secret insecurities, their scars and shame on display until enough time had passed that the secrets wove themselves into a tapestry that Billy called proof, proof that they were no good apart.

But no matter what they talked about, how heavy or light the subject, their late nights always ended the same, with Billy reluctantly standing to go, Victoria following him just as reluctantly to the door where they both stood, waiting for something to happen. Billy always broke the stalemate, stepping towards her as if he meant to claim the forbidden kiss they both wanted. But instead of kissing her, he would do as he had done the night of the meeting and place his index finger lightly on her bottom lip. "Slow," he would repeat in a low growl that vibrated throughout her body, a sensation that made her both regret that she would be going to bed alone and wonder exactly when he had gained the upper hand.

She knew these nights would be her undoing one way or another, either through temptation or the ever-increasing lateness. It had been after two in the morning last night when he traced her mouth, another reason she was content with Johnny's early bedtime. It gave her a couple of hours to catch up on rest before Billy showed up, fresh from a GA meeting, coffee in hand, ready to resume the restoration of their relationship. She smiled again in anticipation and let her eyes drift shut as she surrendered to a deep yawn, but just as the heaviness of sleep settled into her bones, a familiar soft rap sounded at the front door, followed by the voice that would probably always make her heart flutter. He was still knocking, but somewhere around day four had stopped waiting for her to let him in.

"Victoria! I'm a little ear—" Billy stopped when he saw her curled up on the couch, her drowsy, half-opened eyes looking up at him. He smiled at how small she had made herself, but at the weariness on her face, he grew concerned and headed straight to her side. "Hey, what's wrong? You okay?"

He touched her forehead with the back of his hand, and she fought the urge to lean into his touch as she forced herself a little more upright. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," she assured him. "Just a little tired. That's all."

"I guess we have been burning the midnight oil lately, huh? Sorry about that. I can…I'll go. Let you get some rest."

"No! You don't have to do that." Her response was a little too enthusiastic, and she surprised them both when she grabbed his arm as he turned to go. "Stay," she added softly and gestured to the empty end of the sofa.

"You sure?" he smiled.

"Yeah. Yes. I mean, unless you're here to see Johnny. Because he's asleep already. The teething thing, you know." Billy eased past her, chuckling at her rambling and her short-lived embarrassment, but instead of taking the empty spot she gestured at, he sat in the middle of the couch, so close that if she stretched her toes, she could touch him. Only then did she notice that not only was he early, but he had arrived empty-handed. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be at a G.A. meeting right now?"

"It was cancelled," he said and absently picked through the pile of toys on the coffee table. "The room's being fumigated or something. I don't know. And while I would love nothing more than to see our son, that's not why I'm here. I, uh, I came to see you." His face grew serious and his hands stilled, a combination that made her queasy. "There's um, there's something I need to talk to you about. Something important."

"Ok. But you're sort of making me nervous, like the 'I'm glad I'm already sitting down' kind of nervous."

"Naw, it's nothing like that. I don't think anyway. It's just we've been honest with each other lately, right? We agreed to tell each other everything, so…"

"So tell me," she finished for him with a little more bite than she had intended, not yet convinced that his news wouldn't have her second-guessing all the progress they had made.

"It-it's something I've been working on for a couple of weeks now," Billy started uneasily, "and I was going to tell you sooner, but it wasn't a sure thing yet. It is now, though. As of today." He turned to face her then, drawing one leg under the other, draping an arm across the back of the couch. He cleared his throat and opened and closed his mouth over and over again, as if searching for the right words or maybe courage. His nerves fueled hers, and just when she thought she couldn't take the dread and the suspense any longer, he looked her square in the eyes and blurted his news. "I'm getting out of the restaurant business, Vick."

It took a few minutes for her to even grasp that he had spoken, and even when his words did reach her fuzzy brain, the meaning was lost on her. "You're…selling…On the Boulevard? Is that what you're saying?"

"No," he said, and she scrunched her face in confusion. Billy scooted closer to her so that she had to draw her knees into her chest to accommodate him. "I can't sell it. I can't make a profit from my gambling. Not after what it's cost us. What it cost you. It's not right."

"Then, I'm sorry, Billy, but I just…I don't understand. So what? Are you-are you giving it away?"

"Sort of," he answered quietly, and desperate to calm her growing frustration, he reached for her hand and when she didn't resist, held it between his. He traced the lines of her palm like a fortune teller, but his eyes, full of honesty and apologies, never left hers. "I'm trying to make amends, Vick. It's one of the twelve steps. We're, uh, we're supposed to make amends to all the people we wronged because of our addiction. I can't, though. Not for everything. I can't make up for what you went through. What you went through because of me."

"Billy…"

"No, I know. We've moved past that. But…you were hurt. And I can't undo it, and I can't fix it, and I can't keep the restaurant because it's just a reminder of all that. So, yeah, I'm giving it away because something good should come from this." He stopped talking and just stared at her, into her eyes, willing her to see both how difficult this was for him and how important it was that she understand what he was saying. "I worked out a deal with the women's shelter on 3rd, the one Katherine always gave money to. They're going to use it to help the women get back on their feet, you know train'em, give'em jobs, something to be proud of, something to do with all their hurt and fear. And all of the profits will go back into the charity for whatever they need. I'm going to oversee the transition, but after six months, it's all theirs."

"What will you do then? After the six months?" Of all the questions, all the things she wanted to say to him, to ask him, this was the one that made it out, the practical one, the safe one, the one that involved him. And them.

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Maybe go back to Jabot. Maybe start something new. I have some time to really think about it, about what I really want. So, what do you think? You think it's a dumb idea?"

She tilted her head, leaning it back against the couch and laced her fingers between his. She had made the connection right away, understood what he was doing. Though in Katherine's name, he was doing this for her, getting rid of the lie that started it all for her, helping scared, hurt women heal in a way he couldn't help her after Miami. She wasn't sure when during his confession it had happened, but her queasiness was gone, replaced in the pit of her stomach with a warmth that felt undeniably like love.

"No, Billy. I don't. I think it's lovely. And I'm proud of you, so proud of you. Katherine would be too." Uncomfortable with her words and the growing depth his emotions, Billy looked away, down at their joined hands until she tugged at his and smiled. "Everybody else, though, well, they're gonna think you lost your mind."

He echoed her soft laughter and narrowed his eyes in a look of deep, exaggerated thought. "Well, you know, a wise man once said 'Always do right. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest.'"

"Mark Twain," she smiled and nudged his leg with her foot. "Since when do you quote Twain?"

"I told you," he said, abandoning her hand so he could catch the offending foot mid-retreat, "I've taken up some new hobbies since we've been apart. Tried just about everything to keep from coming over here in the middle of the night. Thinking about you on those stairs in that silky thing. You _not_ in that silky thing."

Her cheeks grew warm, beyond warm, and she imagined they were a shade of pink similar to Billy's. That night two weeks ago, though never spoken of during their evening talks, was always present between them, one look or one touch away, like the way he was touching her now, his hands wrapped intimately around her bare foot, crossing a line she had drawn with good intentions. And while his hands remained where they were, she saw in his eyes that, like her, he was remembering his hands everywhere, felt but not seen beneath silk.

"'Man is the only animal that blushes – or needs to,'" he quoted again in that low, vibrating growl, deepening her blush and his.

She could barely look at him, but she couldn't even consider looking away. She tried to think of something to say, a Twain quote of her own to diffuse the tension, but all sensibility and thought had deserted her. Her brain only knew Billy, his touch, his eyes, his closeness, her desire to be closer. He pulled her foot closer to him, into his lap, a move she resisted at first, her instinctive fear of being tickled kicking in, but he held onto her tighter and with a look, told her she could trust him, that he had only good intentions. As proof, he scooted away from her, straitening her leg and pressing his thumbs firmly into the arch of her foot, again and again, working out the tension and ache of the day. It felt like heaven, and she quickly relaxed into his touch.

He worked with such focus and intensity, applying pressure and tenderness to all the right spots. She watched through heavy eyes as he released her captive foot and took the other in his hand, giving it the same attention he had given the first. She was putty in his hands by the time his fingers slid up to her ankle, slipping beneath her jeans where he drew tiny circles on her skin, tender touches that sent a shiver up her leg. He didn't stay long on her ankle, his hands moving next to massage her calf through denim. She knew and trusted that his intentions were innocent, that his only true motive was making her feel better, but when one rogue hand crept higher, brushing the inside of her thigh, and a sensation stronger than a shiver tugged at her core, she placed a hand on top of his, stopping him.

"Billy…"

"Whaaat?" he whined playfully. "I'm being good."

"Yeah, that's the problem."

He hadn't meant to get so carried away. It just seemed unavoidable whenever they were together, but he saw clearly in her eyes that despite what her body felt and wanted, she still wasn't ready. There was some doubt or fear about him, them, that was holding her back. "Okay," he conceded and slid his hands back down her leg until they rested where they had begun, in his lap, cradling both of her feet. "How about I make us some coffee and then we can…talk, just talk."

Her queasiness returned at the word coffee, stronger than before, and she was unable to hide her reaction or blame it on nerves. "No, no coffee. I don't think I can handle it tonight."

"I thought you said you were 'just tired?' You're sick aren't you?"

"No, I'm not. I'm not sick. I can't be sick. It's probably just something I ate."

"Oh you mean like all that junk you fed my daughter yesterday?" His sympathy took a backseat for a minute, and Victoria couldn't help but laugh at his teasing. She had missed this part of their relationship and was glad they could still make each other laugh. "Uh-huh, DeeDee told me everything about your little trip to Chicago. She told me about the museum and the street performer you said was cute and the entire large deep-dish pizza you guys scarfed down. Which you chased with an ice cream sundae that was, and I quote, 'as big as my head, Daddy.' No wonder you feel like crap."

"So, I was hungry," she said defensively in a fit of laughter. "And you're just jealous because we wouldn't let you come with us."

"Jealous, huh? Is that so?" In a stealth move, Billy reached for the coffee table, grabbing the green dinosaur Delia had given Johnny for his birthday and threw it at his wife. But Victoria anticipated it, catching the toy like a pop fly in center field and prepared to hurl it back in retaliation. Billy was quicker, though, as he dove for her, pinning her arm and the dinosaur against the couch. The dinosaur roared in protest, and she squirmed to get away, sinking lower beneath him, until she was fully horizontal, breathless from laughter as Billy loomed above her. He was so close he could have kissed her, but before he could move, the baby monitor sprang to life behind them with the urgent babbles of their son. He wasn't crying or in distress, just awake, as if he knew he was missing out on something.

"Let me get him," Billy breathed against her skin.

"Billy…."

"I know. I know. We don't want to confuse him, but it's early still and you're tired or coming down with something. Go to bed, Vick. I'll stay and take care of Johnny." He could tell by the look on her face that the offer was tempting, but that she was still hesitant. He didn't blame her; her need to put the well-being of her children above all else was one of the things he had admired about her from the start. "Better idea" he started again as he reclaimed his seat on the couch. "Let me take him. He can spend the night at Jack's. It'll be like a sleepover. No confusion. You can rest. And Johnny and I, we can work on a little project of our own."

"What project?" she smiled. "I thought we weren't keeping secrets anymore."

"We're not, Victoria," he said with deadly seriousness. "I promise there's nothing else. This is more of a … surprise. For you."

"I don't know, Billy," she said again.

"Come on. Let me do this for you?" He played a beat on her leg with his hand and raised his eyebrows repeatedly. "Just imagine Jack's face when I turn our little hellion loose in that house full of breakables. I'll take pictures."

"Don't you dare let him break anything!" A sudden burst of energy, she caught his hand between her feet and squeezed as tight as she could. "Promise me, Abbott."

"Ok, I promise!" he pleaded. "Not on purpose anyway. Anybody ever tell you you're mean?"

"Yeah, this one guy," she smiled and released him from her grip. "But he liked it."

"Sounds like a lucky guy. So what do you say? Can I take him?"

He tilted his head towards the monitor where Johnny's babbles were still coming through, and she nodded her head yes, knowing that the longer he stayed, the harder it would be to say no to all sorts of things.

It felt weird being the one to kiss Johnny goodbye, though the little boy seemed thrilled to be out of bed and going on an adventure with his dad. It would be good for them, both of them, to have some time alone, and as much as she wanted that for them and as much as she looked forward to uninterrupted rest, it was hard to let him go. "You sure you have everything?" she asked Billy when he stood on the other side of the front door, his arms laden with their child, a diaper bag and another bag packed full of toys.

"Almost everything," he said with a longing smile.

"Well, if he gets cranky or anything, just call me."

"I will. But in case you've forgotten, I've taken care of a baby a time or two."

"I know. It's just—"

"It's just you're his mother," Billy finished for her, and she offered him a smile of gratitude. "I get it. But we'll be fine. And I'll have him back before the memorial, so if you…if you want to go together…we can…"

"Sounds like a plan."

"Okay then," he smiled and lingered in the doorway a few seconds more. "We won't be late. I promise. But, if you're still sick in the morning, call me."

She nodded absently at him and gave Johnny one last kiss, but as she closed the door, her mind was busy on a puzzle his words had triggered. Late. Sick. Morning. She had missed them. All the signs she had become acutely aware of in their struggle. She had missed every single one. She wasn't just tired. She wasn't coming down with something, hadn't eaten anything disagreeable. But she was late.

"Not now," she whispered to the universe and leaned against the door to steady herself, her eyes trailing up the stairs, the stairs they had stood on two weeks ago, where she had taken his hand and led him to their bedroom, where they had made love. And past the bedroom, the bathroom, where in an open box in the cabinet was the very thing that had given her an answer before, the thing that could give her an answer now.

"Why now?" she asked again. Just when things between her and Billy seemed to be on the right track, a curveball, a clean slate muddied once again.

* * *

><p>Victoria stared into the bright morning sun, unbothered by its blinding intensity. She was wide awake and had been for hours despite her exhaustion from the night before, despite not having Johnny to worry about. Little things had kept sleep from her, little things like miracles and impossibilities. And the wide, uncertain future.<p>

When her eyes began to water, she rolled over, away from the sun, pulling the covers with her, and as her eyes readjusted, they landed on the shadowy entrance to the master bathroom. She couldn't see it, but it was there, still teetering on the edge of the sink, its oblong shape marking her future with two faint blue lines. It was the third test she had taken, after a midnight run to the drugstore. the one that only confirmed what the first two had determined, the one that finally made her believe. She was pregnant. Despite all the tests, despite all the doctors, despite months and months of hormones and tracking her temperature with no luck, she was pregnant. It was unexplainable. Ungraspable. One night in a thousand nights of trying, when conceiving had been the last thing on their minds, she and Billy had made a baby.

But even more unexplainable than the miracle of it all was her numbness to it. She had imagined this moment so many times, hoped for it even more. She had imagined the joy and excitement, constructed scenario after scenario of how she would break the news to Billy. But now? There was none of that. All she felt was a dark, gnawing pit in the bottom of her stomach, too sad to be hunger, too mild to be morning sickness. It was worry and fear, bound together in a knot of questions she couldn't answer. Would the baby be okay? Would Billy be okay? Did he really want another child? Would he have a setback if something went wrong? Or if everything went right? Should she tell him? Today? Next week? Only if she had to?

Overwhelmed, Victoria sighed and rolled onto her back, throwing the covers off of her like an unwanted hug. She tucked one arm under her neck and stared at the blank ceiling above, willing answers to come from nothing, but with no luck, her eyes gazed to where her other hand had landed, accidentally on her stomach, in a loose fist just above her navel. She flattened her palm, spreading her fingers out like a fan as they crept lower, towards that sacred place that housed life. Before she reached it, though, she jerked her hand away and sprang out of bed. She didn't have time for this this morning. She didn't have time for hope. Or wanting. Or worrying. She had to get up and shower and dress for the memorial, and pack Johnny's bag for Hannah. And somewhere in between all that, she had to figure out what to do about Billy, about them, and about this new curveball she'd been thrown.

They were waiting for her when she came downstairs, Billy on the edge of the couch, the jacket of his suit pulled tight at the shoulders, Johnny caged between his knees. They were playing with the toys she had dumped on the coffee table the night before, lost in the exploits of a truck-stomping, killer dinosaur, but at the sound of her heels on the stairs, their heads turned in unison and they smiled twin crooked grins. She stopped mid-descent and smiled back automatically, the first bit of happiness she'd allowed herself all morning. But as Billy's stare lingered, paranoia set in, paranoia that just by looking at her he would know she was pregnant.

"There she is," Billy said to Johnny, turning the little boy within his confines so he was facing her. "Look, Johnny. Who is it? Who is that?"

The little boy's crooked grin widened, and he reached a chubby finger into the air, pointing at her, as his lips pressed together firmly and deliberately. "Mama."

They were crystal clear, those two little syllables that pierced the air and went straight to her heart. No one had to tell her. It was obvious this was the special project they had worked on last night. It was made even clearer when Billy scooped Johnny into a celebratory hug and kissed the top of his head. Both were bursting with pride, and she longed to join them. But she couldn't. Couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. She had forgotten, forgotten the feeling of hearing your child call for you for the first time. She had been honored to witness Johnny's first 'Dada,' but this was special on a whole different level. She was thankful when Johnny lost interest in his own accomplishment and didn't see her turn away. But Billy did. He saw her turn away and the shudder of her body as the tears began. She didn't see him make sure Johnny was content with his toys, and she didn't see him ease away so as not to alarm their son. But she felt him, felt his arms wrap around her, his shoulder beneath her head, the strength of his body holding her up as she melted into him. It was him, her Billy. The one who had stood up to her father time and time again. The one who had held her after the miscarriage, after losing Reed, and Lucy, and a thousand other times. She needed him, no matter what was going on between them, she needed him to hold her, and even if it wasn't true, she needed him to tell her that everything was going to be okay.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. "I thought it would make you happy."

"I am happy, Billy," she squeaked out and squeezed him tighter. He felt like safety and home, and she never wanted to let go.

He pulled away, though, forcing her head up though her eyes averted his. But when he used his thumbs to wipe her tears, she couldn't avoid him any longer. "Are you still sick? Because, honey, everybody will understand if you can't go to this thing."

"I'm not sick, Billy. It's just…"

"I know," he interrupted, a sad look on his face. "It's a tough day. And you've had to be strong for so long. For me. For everybody else. And it's not fair. But today, I'm the strong one. If you feel like breaking down, then break down. And if you feel sad at any point, you just find me, okay?"

"Thank you," she smiled, and he wiped away fresh tears. Across the room, Johnny looked up from play and called for her again, all grins and love. "Thank you for this. You're a good dad, Billy. And if I ever said otherwise or made you feel that you weren't, I'm sorry."

"You haven't," he said in disbelief. "You sure you're not sick?"

"Positive." The double meaning known only to her, Victoria let Billy lead her the rest of the way down the stairs so she could wrap her son in her arms and smother him with kisses. Billy was right. Today would be tough, and what right did she have to add to it?

* * *

><p>Delia's artwork was a hit at the memorial, her colorful drawings a reflection of the colorful woman they had gathered to honor, and given the woman they were honoring, nothing about the day should have come as a surprise. There were tears, silent and wiped away as quickly as they were shed, but there was even more laughter as Jill and Victor and all the people who had known Katherine best recounted memory after memory of the old days, the scuffs, the parties, the woman who was larger than life. But when the event turned into an impromptu wedding for Paul and Christine, everyone was shocked. For a few minutes anyway, until they remembered that Katherine Chancellor was the only person they knew whose power and spirit could orchestrate such a thing from beyond the grave. She was in charge, and even death couldn't change that.<p>

"Did you know about this?" Victoria asked Murphy once the ceremony was over and the reception had begun. He returned her warm accusatory smile as he surveyed the party going on around them, the champagne and food that could only be explained by divine intervention.

"No," he answered with a gravely chuckle. "But I told you, didn't I? Old girl is up there having her way with the world. Throwing parties. Bringing people together. Paul and Christine, your mom and Jill." He paused for a second and leaned towards her, a conspiratorial smirk on his face. "You and Billy?"

"Murphy…" she chastised.

"No, no, I won't say another word about you and Billy." He put up a defensive hand, but his face still wore amusement. "But I did see you two show up together. You were probably just carpooling, though, right? Doing your part to help the environment? But then there were the vows? I could've sworn I saw the two of you sneaking looks at each other all the way though 'you may kiss the bride'. Oh, well, maybe my eyesight just isn't what it used to be."

Victoria conceded with a sigh and a smile, embarrassed that they had been so obvious and now curious as to who else had noticed. Murphy accepted her concession with gentle laughter, but behind his smile, behind the humor on display, she saw his sadness and knew that part of his needling was out of survival, something to cling to on this day when he said goodbye to his mate. It couldn't have easy for him, sitting through the ceremony even if Katherine had ordained it. Seeing the look of sympathy and recognition in her eyes, the older man let down his guard for a minute and took a step towards her, placing his rough, well-worn hands on her shoulders.

"It might take a miracle for you and Billy, but it'll happen. Now you just have to ask yourself if you really want to wait around for a miracle." He kissed her on the cheek in the way she imagined a grandfather would do and started to walk away. He turned back though, all traces of seriousness and sadness once again hidden behind a huge smile. "If you need a break next week, bring Johnny by," he said. "I'll teach him how to dig for worms."

Victoria nodded, unable to speak, not that it mattered because Murphy was already gone, pressing his way through the crowd. A miracle. His words rung in her head like church bells on Sunday mornings, and she touched her stomach without worry, without hesitation, her hand pressing discreetly against its flatness, imagining it swollen and round months from now. "Maybe it's already happened," she whispered to no one but herself.

Suddenly she needed to see Billy, and her eyes scanned the crowd in frantic search of him. He was standing across the park now named for Katherine, talking and laughing with Jack. In her head though, all she could see was them, them a year from now in the very same park, Reed, Delia and Johnny playing hide and seek while she and Billy watched. And in Billy's arms was a tiny pink baby with Abbott charm and Newman will. It was silly, she knew, to even consider that her pregnancy was the result of some afterlife construction by one of their biggest supporters. But in a way, she couldn't help but think Katherine was responsible. If she hadn't died, Billy wouldn't have stumbled threw their front door that night and she wouldn't have led him upstairs. But with her history, with Billy's history, with their families, it was going to take more than one miracle for a pregnancy to become a baby.

"Hello, sweetheart." Her father's voice behind her, deep and imposing, snapped her attention back to the present and her hand away from her secret.

"Hi, Daddy." They exchanged quick kisses and a hug and then her father stepped back and smiled at her for a long while. It was a smile of pride and love and wonder, the kinds of smiles she had always longed for as a child, the ones that made her feel special and proud to be his daughter. They were hypnotizing and addictive, and she knew all too well that behind each one was a potential motive, a price to be paid.

"You look beautiful, my girl."

"Thank you," she said quietly, feeling his love, but bracing herself for the shoe to drop. "Your speech was lovely. Katherine would have loved it."

He smiled again and stuffed his hands in his pockets, puffing his chest out powerfully while shifting his eyes to where his adversary and her husband stood. "You came with Billyboy I see?"

"Yeah, we're here together," she said defiantly and crossed her arms for protection.

"Mmm," he grunted, and she felt her pulse quicken and that need to argue with him rise up within her. She knew she shouldn't today for a number of reasons, the occasion, where they were, but it was the sense of déjà vu she felt when from across the park she caught Billy's eye that made her remember the most important reason. He looked worried about her. It was the same look he had that day at Restless Style almost three years ago, the day they lost their baby, a look of fear, concern, anger, helplessness. She couldn't that again, wouldn't do that again.

She smiled reassuringly at Billy, letting him know all was well, that she was in control, and then turned to face her father. "Do you ever think about when I was in a coma?"

She had caught him off guard, by not defending her decision, but also by bringing up such a tender subject that clearly still touched him beneath his gruff exterior. He looked above her, avoiding her stare, refusing in his stubborn way to play her game.

"That was a dark time for our family. It's over now. Okay?"

"I remember when I woke up," she continued, ignoring him just as stubbornly. "Everybody told me how you never left my side. How you read to me every day. From that Twain collection we love so much. How you made sure I had everything I needed. Doctors. Nurses. Medicine. How you moved me to the ranch so I'd be more comfortable. How you never gave up on me."

His eyes were wet when he looked at her again, as he recalled memories she didn't have. He took her face in his hands and smoothed her hair back, making her feel so small and so loved. "I couldn't lose you, my girl."

"Then don't," she said sternly. "Don't lose me. I need you to be my father, not my boss. And if you can't do that…then you lose me. You lose more than you know."

She walked away leaving him puzzled about her mysterious warning, but not her seriousness. She didn't care, though. Not now. There was someone else she had to get to, her whole world standing just across the park. Murphy was right, not about the miracle, but about waiting for it. There wasn't enough time to wait for happiness, to wait for a push, not even if she and Billy lived for a hundred more years.

"I'm sure she's fine," Jack said.

He was always reliable when it came to giving Billy advice and talking him away from bad ideas. Usually, that was. And even though Billy heard this warning loud and clear, his eyes stayed on Victoria and her father. She looked upset, tense, and he worried that she hadn't been truthful earlier, that she was still feeling under the weather. Whether sick or not, he knew something was wrong, that her demeanor had changed since last night. And as usual, Victor always seemed poised to strike when she was most vulnerable.

"She's tough," his brother added. "And if anyone can handle the moustache, it's your wife. And considering she showed up here with you, I'd say she's handling him just fine."

"I know that, Jack," Billy said through a clenched jaw. "Doesn't stop me from wanting to protect her, though."

"You get that from Dad. All of us Abbotts get that from Dad."

Just as Jack mentioned their father, Victoria flashed a smile that told him she was okay. Billy wasn't entirely convinced, but it was enough, enough to make him comfortable with looking away for the split second it took to share a knowing look with his brother. He had tried hard all day not to think about the great John Abbott, but it was no use. All goodbyes inevitably led back to his father's death, the most significant of his life so far.

"You think they're up there together?" Billy asked, nodding towards the sky.

"Dad and Katherine?" Jack smiled and grabbed his brother by the shoulder. "I'd bet my life on it, Billy. They're up there having a blast. Probably even found a quarry by now."

The brothers laughed remembering the stories their Dad and Katherine had told about the summers of their youth spent skinny-dipping at the quarry. They were so lost in remembering that they didn't hear Victoria rush up behind them until the laughter faded and they saw her there, her pink dress standing out against the late summer greenery.

"Hi, Jack." Victoria kissed her brother-in-law on the cheek, but shyly kept her eyes on Billy. She knew she should make small talk with him, but she didn't have it in her. She really just needed to talk to Billy.

"I think I'll go…freshen my drink," Jack announced to deaf ears, sensing his presence was suddenly no longer required or wanted, not that he blamed either of them. "Can I get either of you …yeah I didn't think so."

"Jack," Victoria called after him, forcing him to turn back. "How's Phyllis? Have there been any changes…in her condition?"

"Nothing new," he said with a wistful smile that he quickly transformed into one that matched the bright day. "I'm going to see her tomorrow, though."

"Good. Whatever you do, don't give up on her, Jack. I'm proof that these things can…that miracles can happen."

His eyes glistened with hope, and the man who had helped raise her, with whom she would always have a special bond, looked back and forth between her and Billy. "That you are, Victoria. That you are."

Jack kissed her on the cheek before walking away, leaving her and Billy truly alone for the first time today. On her sprint to get to him, after escaping from her father's attempted manipulations, she had had so many things to say, an entire speech worked up in her head, but now, she just wanted to look at him, to be with him.

"Some day, huh?" Billy asked, breaking the silence and fighting the urge to ask her how she was after her talk with her father. "A funeral. A wedding."

In the back of her mind, she added "a baby" to his list, but to his face she simply smiled and agreed. "Yeah. Gives you a lot to think about."

"Like what people will say about you when you're gone?" he asked. "That's kind of scary. Thinking about what they'll remember. What they'll forget. If you made any sort of difference at all."

She knew he hated funerals, the heaviness of them, the finality, and she knew it would be nicer if she changed the subject. But she wouldn't do that. Not today. He was willing to be open, and so was she. "What do you want people to remember about you?"

"That I loved you," he answered without hesitation. "And hopefully, that one day I finally got it right."

"You've gotten it right, Billy," she whispered. It was as loud as her emotions would let her be. "You've gotten it right so many times."

Around them, music swelled, soft and slow, and they turned their heads to see the new bride and groom dancing. Others joined in, swaying in unison, and on the periphery Murphy stood alone, watching. A funeral. A wedding. A baby. The span of a life all in one day. These moments were the ones that mattered, the ones that were remembered when all was said and done.

"So what are your plans for the rest of the day?" she asked and stepped towards him. Smiling, she reached for his tie, letting her fingers graze the soft material from the knot to the end. "I was thinking we should do something to honor Katherine. Something spontaneous. Something fun."

"We?" he questioned her, taken aback both by her closeness and her words. She nodded, and he rubbed at the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "What do you have in mind?"

Using her grip on his tie, she pulled him even closer and lowered her voice to a suggestive tone. "Well, I was thinking you could take me to the quarry."

"The…quarry?"

"Yeah, I heard you and Jack talking about it, and I've never been. Katherine always told me about how much fun she and your dad were teenagers."

"Uh, they went skinny-dipping, Vick."

"Yeah, that's what she told me." Victoria smiled seductively and brushed nonexistent lint from his lapel. "You know it's been a really long time since I've been skinny-dipping. Actually, I don't think I've ever been skinny-dipping. And summer's almost over, so now's the time."

His eyes were wide and his mouth hanging open. "You want to go skinny-dipping? With me?"

"Mmm hmm," she grinned and then grew serious. "And I thought that afterwards… we could maybe…swing by Jack's and pick up your things."

That stunned him more than the skinny-dipping, and he searched her eyes for truth and confirmation. "My things? What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I want you to come home. Life is short, too short, and I don't want to spend one more day wanting you when I could have you."

"You forgive me?" he asked with trembling lips, his hand seeking hers, the one still gripping his tie.

"I don't think it's about forgiveness, Billy. It's about acceptance. And I have accepted that life without you is not the life I want."

"What about going slow?"

"Slow?" She laughed and stepped even closer to him, placing her index finger on his bottom lip, blazing a hot trail across it. "We were never very good at slow."

Truer words had never been spoken, and they were the only words he needed to hear. He removed her finger from his mouth only to place a tender kiss on its tip. A warm September breeze rustled through the trees above them and then danced gently through Victoria's hair, leaving a strand out of place in its wake. It seemed like an invitation, or maybe divine intervention. Billy reached out and brushed the stray lock away from her beautiful face, caressing her cheek afterwards until she leaned into his touch. He brought his lips to hers and rested them against her mouth, letting his uneven breath mingle with hers. They were both aware they were being watched as he parted her lips with his and kissed her long and slow and deep, but neither cared. Katherine would approve, and that was all that mattered.

"Can we save the skinny-dipping for another day?" Billy asked when they finally parted, both in need of air. "I just want to go home with you."

She smiled her agreement and pulled him with her, through the maze of guests and dancers, stopping to say goodbye to friends and family members along the way. Murphy winked at her as they approached the stairs. She winked back and mouthed the words 'thank you' to her comrade in lost love. They would have continued on their way had Chloe not been standing at the foot of the stairs. It was the first time she had seen her since Billy's confession, and though he gave her a look begging her to just walk away, Victoria plastered on a smile and approached the woman who would always be in their lives as Delia's mom.

"Chloe," Victoria said though the petite woman tried to make a run for it. All escape routes blocked, she returned a fake, nervous smile. "I just wanted to say Delia's poem was lovely. You should be proud. I know I am. Billy and I both are. And thank you for letting us work on the artwork together."

"Yeah, yeah. No problem. She's a terrific kid. And of course. Delia loves you. She hasn't stopped talking about your trip to Chicago. Or the art class you're taking together."

"Good. I'm looking forward to it, too." Billy was oddly quiet behind her, like he was waiting for an explosion that never came. He should have known, though. That wasn't his wife's style. Instead, she smiled classily at Chloe and then turned to him to see if he was ready to go. Thankful, he nodded and placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her away.

"Oh, and one more thing." Victoria said suddenly, stopping them both cold in their tracks. She towered over the woman, staring her down before turning and giving Billy a long deep kiss of her own. "These lips? They're mine. And so's the rest of him."

"Can we-can we go now?" Billy asked, reeling from the kiss.

"Yes," she answered, backing away from Chloe, allowing him to wrap his arms around her once again. "Let's go home."

* * *

><p>Billy fumbled with the lock on the front door, out of practice and blindly trying to fit the key into its hole. It clicked finally, the door swung open, and force sent them stumbling across the threshold, arms and lips and legs intertwined. They lost their balance and separated for a moment, and Billy used the opportunity to retrieve his bags from the porch. He tossed them inside, the tangible proof of their reconciliation, and then slammed the door and dropped his keys where he stood. Victoria stood in from of him, in the entryway, a hand across her swollen lips as she tried not to laugh at his eagerness.<p>

"Welcome home," she said, and Billy exhaled, expelling the last few weeks from his body.

"I'm never leaving again."

"I'm gonna hold you to that."

"Yeah? You're gonna hold me?" He smirked. This morning he had been worried that they'd hit a roadblock he couldn't see or name, but now she was standing in their home, looking at him with love and longing and desire. She was beautiful, as beautiful as that night he stumbled to the very spot he stood now, only this time, today, she was his again and he wasn't wasting another second with so much distance between them.

Billy growled at her, because he knew it always made her squeal. This time was no exception, and she put her arms up in anticipation as he freed himself from his confining jacket and rushed at her like a bull. She landed against the wall at the foot of the stairs, gently, but passionately as their lips united once again. He was everywhere, his hands across her hips and thighs, his lips trailing hot from her mouth to her neck, and she laughed at the ticklish sensation.

"Are you hungry?" she asked breathlessly over the top of his head.

"Yes," he growled again and continued his assault on her neck while his hands pulled his shirt from his pants and then tackled the noose around his neck. "When's Hannah bringing Johnny back?"

"Not, oh, not…til tonight," she responded between kisses. "I can make you a sandwich."

"Hell no." He halted all progress on his tie, and nervously looked up to study her face, suddenly afraid she had changed her mind or was stalling because she really did want to go slow. But he was wrong, the 'gotcha' smile on her face bringing him instant relief. She reached out her hand and grabbed a loose end of his tie, pulling it slowly, so slowly from around his neck, until gravity intervened and it fell to the floor.

"Wanna go upstairs?" she asked.

"I thought you'd never ask."

There was no question where they were going this time, no baby to stop and check on, no mixed signals to try and decipher. The bedroom was flooded with sunlight when they entered as one. Shadows played innocently in the corners, the recesses, across the flat top of the perfectly made bed, subtle reminders that light and dark cannot exist without the other. Billy's shirt had been lost somewhere along the way, his belt loosened, and Victoria's hands were busy at work on his pants while his hands searched her dress for an opening.

Surprising them both, he stopped their progress and pulled his mouth away from hers. They were moving too fast, which was to be expected after so long apart, but this wasn't right. Not this way, not so hurried and desperate. She had said life was short, and she was right, but Billy refused to believe that life was too short for some things.

"About what you said at the memorial…" he started, brushing her hair away from her face, his eyes boring into hers. "To Chloe."

"Billy," she sighed. "I really don't want to talk about this right now." She kissed the corner of his mouth seductively and let her hands still perched on the edge of his pants fall overboard. "Do you?"

"Yeah, actually I do."

His response confused her, almost hurt her, and left her wondering if he was upset with her. Until he took her hands, moved them away from his body and secured them behind her back, pinning her within his embrace. "I want to know if I get to make the same claim." He leaned towards her, his breath but not his lips brushing against hers. He controlled the distance, so now matter how she struggled, she couldn't reach him. "Are your lips mine?" He brushed against pale pink lips again and she sighed.

"Yes."

It was the answer he wanted, and so he rewarded her with a slow kiss that he ended quickly and in one swift, dizzying move, released her hands and spun her around so that her back was against his chest. He held her securely to him with one arm and with the other brushed her hair to one side, exposing her neck. Instinctively, she leaned her head, widening the alabaster curve, giving him better access to what he was after.

"And this?" he asked, pulling the sleeve of her dress away and placing a kiss on her shoulder. "Is this mine?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation.

Barely-there stubble traveled the dip from her shoulder to her neck, and she squirmed more and more the closer he got to the sensitive spot he loved to tease. "And this? he asked when he finally reached.

"Uh-huh."

Her response was barely audible, but it must have been enough for him and his torturous ways because the next sensation she felt was his fingertips at the base of her neck, moving, sliding down along the bumpy road of her spine until he reached the zipper that had eluded him before. She heard and felt his success as cool air met more and more of her back and his fingertips blazed an even longer trail, across the clasp of her bra, down to the small of her back where fingertips became palm and his breath teased her earlobe.

"Looks like I don't have to ask about this. My name's already there."

She laughed, and he kissed her there anyway as his rogue hand slipped briefly inside her dress before traveling back up to where they had started. He stopped at her bra, though, slipping a finger beneath the material, and in a single move skillfully popped it free as he walked them closer to the bed. He let her sit on the edge, but when she tried to pull him with her, he resisted, kneeling on the floor in front of her instead. His eyes were on hers, but his hands, they reached for her foot, and in a move scorched in her memory as her own, slid her shoe from her foot.

"What about this?" he asked and placed a soft kiss on her foot.

"Yes," she whispered in reverence. "Yes," she said again when he did the same with her other foot.

Once she was barefoot, Billy's hands followed a similar path to the one hers had taken that night two weeks ago. She knew what he was doing, but he had no idea what he was doing to her. She had pushed all thoughts of miracles and curveballs out of her mind, willingly, deciding on her own to give them this moment, this afternoon, this reconciliation without complications. It was wrong, perhaps, but in the moment, the moment she chose him over fear, it had seemed right. Now, it was beginning to feel selfish.

His hands moved higher on her legs. When they reached her outer thighs, they didn't stop, forcing their way under her dress, just far enough so that he could scoot her back on the bed. She took his cue and moved to the middle of the bed, laying her head against the perfectly smooth pillow as he stood watch, watching her, her dress gaping and the top, the bottom hiked high, exposing her long, bare legs.

The longer he stared at her, the more strained her breathing became, conflicted by what her body wanted and what her gut was telling her. He let his pants fall slowly to the floor, and the bed sank with his weight when he joined her, his warm, bare skin covering so much of her. His lips crashed down on hers, and she felt his desire against her hip. It would have been easy had he stayed where he was, but before she had had her fill of his mouth, he was traveling down her body, pulling her dress as he went.

"Mine?" he asked, placing a kiss in the hollow of her throat.

"Yours," she answered, still playing his game.

"Mine?" Next on his list was the tiny dark mole on the underside of her breast, so close to the hard, sensitive tip that she arched her back, encouraging him closer.

"Yours," she moaned as he rewarded her with her request.

The desire was blinding, but her conscience, her secret was deafening. It raged inside her, building faster than her want of him though he moved lower, flicking his tongue quickly inside her navel. No more secrets. They had promised, a promise she was already breaking. The tension was building inside her, a dam ready to break, and it did when he placed a tender kiss low, just above the discarded folds of her dress, at the place that housed life.

"Mine?" he asked just as he had before, but instead of answering, her body tensed and she gripped his hair in her hand. He froze, and with the most heartbreaking expression she had ever seen, looked at her. The tears came then, and she shook her head 'no.' He looked so scared, and she wanted to tell him not to be, but she couldn't talk, knew she couldn't get out all the words that could explain why she had stopped him. So, she said the only word she could manage.

"Ours."

She turned her head away from him then, visibly upset, and in the shadow of her face, he saw the truth. All of it. He saw the place his lips had just kissed. He saw her strange behavior from this morning, the fear on her face, the struggle, the years of want, the years of disappointment, all of his screw-ups. And her, her on the stairs, illuminated like the moon itself. It was too much, so he did the only thing he could.

He laughed. Softly. Against her stomach, a sound and a sensation that brought her back to him. She buried her hands deeper in his hair, signaling him to look up. She was afraid of what she would find in his eyes, that he would only see the miracle and not the rest. But that wasn't the case. He saw the dark possibilities, they lingered in the corners of his eyes, but the joy and the hope shone brighter, sparkled like sunlight on water.

He crawled to her, moving to cover her exposed body with his. He kissed her tears, caressed her face, and then repeated words they had vowed before.

"For better or for worse?"

She nodded and added, "For richer or for poorer."

"In sickness."

"And in health," they finished together.

"I do," Billy whispered, his face so close to her she couldn't see anything but his eyes.

"I do," Victoria echoed.

Part of her wanted to believe that his hope, his optimism was enough. She wanted to believe that the universe wasn't so cruel as to lead them down the same dark path again and again. She wanted to hold onto to Murphy's conviction that Katherine was in control now.

All of these things illuminated dark corners, staved off life in infinite night, but as she lay there with Billy, in their bed, their bodies, their hands, their hearts together again, she accepted the dark, the shadows, the scenarios she hoped against. Doubt, she realized, could live alongside hope. Fear with bravery. Disappointment with love. And she could feel them all at the same time, and she could endure them as long as she had Billy. They were a pair, a perfect pair that needed the other to be complete, to be balanced. Light and dark, moonlight and shadow.

"Aren't you going to kiss the bride," she asked with a smile. He swallowed and nodded, approaching her with reverence and awe. She stopped him, and sliding her arms down his back, pulled him closer to her. "Don't be gentle."

"Yes ma'am," he smiled and crashed like a wave on her body, his hands, his roaming, healing hands..everywhere.


End file.
